


if my heart's a grenade

by makapedia



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Demisexuality, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Modern Era, Pining, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: Yona's father tells her she can have anyone she wants -exceptfor Soo-Won. To prove a point, she enlists the help of Hak, best friend and joth, and fake dating ensues.





	1. as if the first cut wasn't deep enough

Hak knows he's in for an earful the moment he hears the first pebble hit his window.

He chews the idea of ignoring her in his brain for a moment. Long enough for Yona to find bigger rocks to throw, and for as much as he loves the idea of just saying fuck it and rolling over to go back to bed, because for as much as he adores her, she really is spoiled sometimes, he still knows she'll feel bad about unintentionally scratching the glass. He treads a fine line between teasing his sheltered best friend and tending carefully to her whims, and there's not much he can do about it, other than shaking his head and peeling back his curtains.

It's clear she's come from dinner with her father. She has her hair tied back with a bow, her wild mane of red temporarily tamed, and though there's a fire burning there in her eyes, she still looks  _cute_  in her sweater and knee-length skirt. She still looks cute, even with  _gravel_ in her hands now.

"Gramps will kill me if you chip the glass," Hak calls, pushing the window open.

"Then let me in!"

Bossy. Well, Yona is who she is. For as much as he complains, he knows he'd still never want to change her.

His response takes too long for the little heiress's liking. Yona raises the hand full of gravel again, as if it's a threat. "Let down your hair, Rapunzel!"

She's got it twisted if she thinks he's the princess in this scenario. Still, Hak tosses the old rope ladder out of his window, and though she's still wearing her good heels from dinner, Yona drops her ammunition and scales his tower.

.

They're an odd pair.

It's not lost on him how funny she looks sitting in his bedroom. The juxtaposition between Yona, in a cashmere sweater and diamond earrings, and the stark black of the punk band posters on his wall is almost comical, even if it really  _is_ his normal now. She is just as much a common presence in his room as he is, really, and though she looks funny surrounded by all of the dark colors — and his humble collection of records — he wouldn't want it any other way.

She narrows her eyes at him as she sits daintily, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded neatly on her knee. "You have bedhead."

"I sleep sometimes."

"You should wash your eyeliner off first."

As if she has a right to lecture him on self care. Hak snorts. "Whatever you say, your highness."

Her nose wrinkles up at that. "Hak."

He drops beside her, sleepily curling around the general shape of her. He's careful, as always, not to push the envelope and break the touch barrier — never in his bed, anyway — and looks up at her, watching her pivot to face him, long hair curling around the crook of her shoulder, brushing just below her shoulder blades. Even in the lowlight of his mood lamp, her hair still looks soft, and there's so much of it; Hak narrowly resists the urge to reach up and run his fingers through it.

What a sappy thought. It's not like she'd let him do it anyway, even if she was sweet on him. Yona chases off frizz like it's her god-given duty. She's had a strict no-touching policy on her locks since she was twelve.

"So what's got you all upset, anyway," Hak asks, instead of dwelling on the way her hair looks as though it's glowing in the purple light.

Her eyes regain their spark without a moment's pause. "Ugh!"

Not entirely an answer, but Hak knows better than to prod too deeply. Instead, he cracks his neck and pokes her knee, brow quirked.

"I just don't understand his reasoning!" Yona says, cheeks puffed, and he hates how cute he thinks she looks when she's about to throw a fit. "And it's not like he has any good reason for me not to marry Soo-Won anyway! He can't just- he can't just tell me who I can and can't marry. I don't care what he thinks, Soo-Won is- he's the perfect gentleman, and beautiful, and-"

"Actually going to school for business," Hak supplies helpfully.

"Going to school for business!" Her hands are pressed down to her lap, now, and Yona unfolds her legs just as Hak has the mindfulness to look away from that particular siren song. "Wouldn't he want me to marry someone who could potentially take over the business someday? Or someone who could help me if I chose to?"

"Mmhmmm."

"He's the ideal son-in-law," Yona says, very primly. Hak rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, ignoring the slow, gradual stabbing in his gut. "And the perfect husband! What more could he ask for?"

It's an old song and dance, but Hak's still not entirely desensitized to the bump and grind. "Why're you in a rush to get married anyway?"

"I'm seventeen!"

"You're a baby."

"I'm in  _LOVE,_ " Yona gasps.

Tragically, unfortunately in love. Hak lets out a long breath and rubs at his chest, instead, where the stabbing feeling has migrated to. He knows instinctively that she has a point - Soo-Won is the ideal partner, what, with his pretty face and gentle words, and his dependability is second to none - but Yona is only seventeen, and on that basis alone, he can understand her father's hesitence.

Hak doesn't question her feelings towards Soo-Won. He only questions the timing. Ah, but Yona's always been impatient, and pushy, and bossy, and - well, he could go on, but that'd be rude of him.

"You're  _seventeen,_ " he deadpans.

She huffs and swats at his shoulder. She misses, somehow, and instead her palm slaps down on his bare bicep, and she leaves a burn of goosebumps in her wake. Hak only prays she doesn't notice.

"You'll understand when you fall in love, Hak," she says, foolishly. Hak bites back his laughter, because it'd only be self-deprecating at this point. "Life is too short to wait around for what's proper, isn't it? Or what someone else has decided what's proper for me. It's my life! Shouldn't I get to decide what's right or wrong for me?"

She's preaching to the choir. Hak sits up and rolls his neck. "Ideally."

"But he won't let me!"

"There are a lot of eyes on your father, you know," Hak says slowly. "Everyone's interested in the direction he'll take the business in, and a lot of that's probably going to fall onto your shoulders. And whoever you decide to eventually marry." Or something. "He probably just wants you to go to school first and get serious about it before you just decide to elope or something."

"But that's not his choice to make!"

Classic Yona. Pure emotional response. It's not that he doesn't agree with her, because he does - of course he does, it should always be her choice who she decides to allow the privilege of marrying her - but in the end, her father had spoiled her. Spoiled her sweet, of course, but spoiled her nonetheless.

Hak supposes this is the direct effect of giving her everything she'd ever wanted as a kid. It's not unlike a temper tantrum; Yona, denied her favorite toy, comes crying to Hak, expecting a different outcome. And, well, he's not sure what he's supposed to do about it, other than hear her out and offer what she probably hopes are words of encouragement. What else are friends for?

"It's not his choice to make," he echoes, placatingly. Stands up and crosses his room to open his dresser, as Yona huffs and puffs and probably pulls on her hair. "Give it some time. Maybe seeing Soo-Won around and watching him ace his classes will convince him otherwise."

"He said absolutely not, though," Yona sighs, and he can hear his mattress creak beneath her shifting weight. "He said on no terms could I ever marry Soo-Won."

That seems a little dramatic. The top drawer of his dresser groans as he tugs it open and pulls out a pair of old sweatpants.

"Huh." Hak grabs a (black) shirt and turns to face her.

"Father said I could have  _anyone_  else." She's looking at him pleadingly now, and that knife in his chest twists, sinking directly into his heart. Yona barrels on, with eyes like burning sunsets and lashes long enough (and painted dark enough) to numb his tongue. "But I don't want anyone else! I only want him."

Yeah, doesn't he know it. Hak chucks the clothes at her instead of dwelling on his own selfish feelings. "That sounds dramatic."

"I don't understand! I could do so much worse than Soo-Won," she stresses, crushing his sweatpants in her hands. "I could…! I could date a delinquent, for all he cares, and apparently that'd be fine! A gold digger! A criminal! A… a  _goth_!"

Does she realize whose room she's sitting in?

Hak snorts, raises a brow and leans back against his dresser, arms folded across his chest. At least this way there's distance between them, and if she inadvertently reams him with another knife through the chest, maybe he'll at least has a few more seconds to try and prepare himself for that sting. It's a delicate line he walks, the best friend but not the  _one_. Second best. B team.

He'll get nowhere thinking like that. Yona's heart is huge, despite her rather laser-guided crush, and even if he's not her dream man, Hak still knows he means something to her. He's dependable in his own way, he thinks; otherwise, she wouldn't be here, leaning on him for comfort and advice. And that place that he takes up in her heart, one of comfort and utmost trust — well, that's special too, and it's more than Hak could ever ask for.

If she wants a big brother figure then that's the role he'll play. The shoe doesn't quite fit, but Hak's grown enough to deal with a pair of sneakers that hug a little too tight. Whatever. To ask for more would be greedy, and selfish, and above all, it'd be unthankful. He likes being allowed in her life, no matter the reason.

She trusts him. Even if she thinks being goth is worse than breaking the law.

"I guess so, huh," Hak says airily, "by that logic, even I could qualify."

"Yeah! You're the opposite of what he wants." Ow. "It's perfect."

There's a moment's pause. Long enough for Hak's brain to catch up with his mouth - and no.  _Oh no._

It takes Yona about a minute longer to catch on to what he'd actually said. Her eyes lit up, and god, they're like Christmas lights, the way they glow, pretty and fluorescent. But before she has the chance to suggest anything dangerous, Hak interrupts her with a firm " **Hell**  no."

"But  _Hak!"_

"Not on your life," he says, in his best attempt to shut down whatever hairbrained scheme she's already shoddily plotted in the minute and a half since Hak had forgotten to think before he spoke. "Think about what you're asking."

"I am!" In her passion, she throws his clothes onto the floor and stands up, and her hair bounces around her cheeks. It's cute, and he hates that he notices it even as his stomach drops in dread. She has those puppy eyes now, looking at him through those long, dark lashes of hers, and he has to make an actual effort not to melt beneath her will. "Hak," she says, taking three steps toward him, "Please, wait, listen to me-"

He doesn't need to listen to know what she wants. Yona has never needed words to convey what she wants. Not with him, anyway. The pretty princess wears her big, woeful heart on her sleeve for all to see - and it's impossible for him to not be mindful of it at any given time.

"I'm not being your fake boyfriend."

"But!" She closes the distance left between them and snatches his hands out of their firm lock around his chest and into her own tiny pair. Her skin is soft, and he clears his throat and finds his grit, latches onto it, because he can't think like that, can't get lost in her wiles. "But Hak, there's no one else I can ask-"

 _Ow._  Again. "You say the sweetest things sometimes," he says, looking anywhere but her.

"That's!" She seems to squirm for a moment. "You know I didn't mean it like that. Please, Hak. I don't  _want_  to ask anyone else."

That almost hurts worse. If he tries hard enough, he can rearrange the words, can write his own siren's call in her summons -  _I don't want anyone else but you_ \- but he's too old now, and he's been playing this game too long to put what he  _wants_ to hear in her mouth. It's too dangerous for him to search for hidden meanings and what-ifs between her lines.

"It's a bad idea," he says, instead, shortly. "It won't work."

But she pushes on, still, in that stubborn, clueless way of hers. "We won't know until we try!"

 _We._  Hak can't think in 'we's. He can only think in her, and what she wants, and how he can help her achieve those things without throwing himself in the fire in the process. And this -  _this_ isn't just walking through fire, which he would do, given the opportunity, really.  _This_  is emotional suicide. Murder of his feelings of the highest degree. And the stubborn girl doesn't even know it, doesn't realize what she's actually asking of him.

It's easy to play pretend. He's far too good at playing pretend. What's difficult is pretending the double negative, or double positive, or whatever it is. He loves her. He can't pretend to love her when the feelings are already there. The truth will bleed through. He'll bleed through, in his stupid, stubborn possessive yearning for her, and then she'll hate him. Or he'll hate him. Or both.

"No," he says again.

Yona squeezes his hands in hers. It's a direct line to his heart. "Please?" she tries again. "For me?"

It might be her most damning blow yet. Never mind stabbing him in the chest - she might've as well reached into his ribcage herself and held his heart in her hands herself. She doesn't know, he reminds himself. She doesn't know the kind of power she has over him. Yona knows not what she does.

When he doesn't respond, she adds, "I trust you, Hak. I'll let you do anything you want."

Record scratch. Rewind.

"... Anything I want," he repeats.

" _Anything._ "

He knows she doesn't mean that. Yona's talking about boundaries, about whether or not she'll be okay with him holding her hand, which. She doesn't mean that, either. He doubts she's had a risque thought about him in her life, and doesn't intend on allowing him to get away with copping a feel or kissing her, god forbid, but - but even then, they're definitely not on the same train of thought here anyway.

To have permission - express permission, at that - to do whatever he wants is tempting, to say the least. For devious reasons. Teasing reasons. How does one say…  _gremlin_ reasons.

He tries not to let his grin bleed through. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't, for his own sake, more than anything else, but the temptation is too strong. If he's going to crash and burn, he might as well take the chance to tease her in front of her rich friends before he finally croaks.

"Shake on it," he says. "I want that in writing."

If she's suspicious, her glee overwhelms her intuition, and she gasps and lunges forward to hug him. She's warm, and soft, and tiny, but Hak still can't help the shit eating grin that splits his expression as he allows himself to wrap his arms around her, too. If he's going to suffer for this, if he's going to actively throw himself into the fray and help Yona marry her sweetheart, well, at least he'll have permission to get on her nerves in the meantime. It's the least she could do, he thinks, to put up with his harmless jokes.

"You're the best," she sighs, and Hak catches a whiff of her shampoo as she drops back to smile up at him.

Flowery. Typical Yona. Still. It's so nostalgic that it does remind him that she still has his heart in her hands, whether she knows it or not.

"I mean it," he says. "I want it in writing. No take backs."

"Scouts honor!"

"You were never a girl scout." She pinks and smiles, guiltily, and she has no right being so cute. Hak huffs and rubs his face. "Pick those pajamas back up and get changed. Gramps should be asleep, so we're safe."

"It's not like I'm not allowed in the house, you know," Yona says, kneeling down to collect the discarded clothing. She hugs them to her chest and smiles still, still too overcome with gratitude for him to really school her expression into anything remotely  _sisterly._

Well. He supposes that's the point now.

Fuck. What'd he just agree to?

Hak rubs his face harder. "That's the point. He'll be too happy to see you. I'll never hear the end of it."

Yona hums a little something and trots over to his bedroom door, bow bouncing in her mess of hair. Shoots a giddy look over her shoulder and sing-songs, "Whatever you say,  _boyfriend._ "

He can't help it. Hak trips on his way to his bed. Falls right on it, face down, and works on convincing himself that his heart hadn't just skipped a beat.

_(Fuck)._


	2. ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch

To Yona's delight, Hak keeps his word.

He shows up at their meeting spot (an old treehouse they'd repurposed when she was twelve and he fifteen) looking terrifying, if she's being honest. He's always been a bit of a bigger guy, what, with his broad shoulders and lumbering height, but in combination with his smudged eyeliner and shredded sleeves and spiked combat boots, well. He's every father's worst dream.

It's perfect. He's perfect. Yona squeals in glee and hops down from her perch on the treehouse's deck without warning.

Hak yelps and lunges to catch her. "Wh- some  _warning_ , Jesus," he mutters.

"You look so bad!" He gives her a  _look_ , and - "Oh, that's perfect, too!"

"You say the sweetest things sometimes, Princess," he says, for what feels like the millionth time. And yeah. Maybe she deserves the dig. Yona's brain catches up with her mouth and she feels her face go hot. "Thanks."

"I meant bad in a good way!" It's clear her excuse isn't the balm she'd hoped it'd be. Hak looks at her, brow raised, and Yona pats a hand placatingly to his bare shoulder and tries hard not to cop a feel. He might be her fake boyfriend, but this pseudo relationship isn't real, and anything more than what's necessary feels a lot like cheating on Soo-Won, who, for as beautiful as he is, isn't built like a tank. And man, is Hak built like a tank.

"Bad was a compliment." It sure doesn't sound like a question.

"Yes! Not bad as in ugly," Yona says, patting his shoulder again, though she makes a mindful choice to touch parts of him covered by cotton and not warm, taut skin. "Bad as in dangerous. Bad boy material. Those spikes could kill someone."

"... They were thrifted."

Excitement bubbles in her stomach. "You  _thrift?!_ "

Hak sets her down and plops his hand on her head. "You are so filthy rich it makes you disconnected from the rest of the world sometimes, I swear."

She thinks that was a dig at her. Yona pouts and pushes his hand away. "Don't touch the hair! And I know thrifting is good. Fast fashion is terrible for the environment, you know. I don't partake in any of that. All of my clothing is purchased with the intention of using it for as long as I can, and I make sure to look into sustainable brands-"

He chuffs and gives her this crooked half-smile, and Yona doesn't know whether he's still making fun of her or not. He doesn't comment on anything that she thought he might, either. Instead, he plops his hand right back on her head and says, "I thought you said I could do anything."

"N-Not when frizz is in the equation, you bully!"

"So I can't romantically run my fingers through your hair?"

Laughable. "You wouldn't want to. Your fingers would get stuck." And hearing  _romantically_  come from Hak's mouth is… weird. Unnatural. Yona's not sure she's ever even heard his voice say anything remotely sappy before. Most of what he spouts off is about music or sports - or making fun of her.

It must mean he's getting into character. Good. She can work with this.

"Whatever you say," he says. His hand slips from her hair, but doesn't quite make it back down to touch her. He hovers for a moment over her shoulder, indecisive, it seems, if he's permitted to touch her over the straps of her sundress.

Stupid Hak. Who makes a big deal about wanting to be allowed to touch her hair, only to shrink away from touching her anywhere else? She'd tried to wrestle him before, when they'd been kids, and he'd wrangled her into a headlock and demanded she tap out - and literally moments ago, he'd caught her in his arms after she'd lept from the treehouse. It's not like he's never touched her before. It's not like she hasn't made it clear that she trusts him.

Still. It's sweet, in its own funny way. Stupid Hak.

"Here," she says, taking his hand into hers. It's surprising, how big his hand actually is compared to hers. She feels dwarfed by him, but it's not suffocating, not really - it's safe, in a sort of nostalgic way. Yona can't remember the last time they'd held hands, but it must not've been for a while. Hak's hand feels bigger than she can ever remember it being.

Hak does a weird little fidget. "Ah."

"Couples hold hands," she reasons, cheeks hot, for some reason. They shouldn't be. Yona shakes her head and clears her mind - they're on a mission, after all! All of this has a purpose. "It'll help sell the idea to my father."

He nods, looking somewhere over her shoulder. "So holding your hand is okay, but touching your hair still isn't."

"Holding my hand has always been okay," Yona says, narrowing her eyes.

"Couples hold hands," he quips, far too quickly for her liking. "Got something you want to confess there, Princess?"

Yona swats his chest with her free hand. "Don't call me that!"

"If the shoe fits."

"You could always hold my hand before if you needed to for some reason," she says, through gritted teeth, face still tingling with heat. "But you have permission now to lace our fingers, if you think it'll be more believable now."

And to prove her point, she laces them. His hand feels even warmer in hers now, somehow, and she's relieved to find his hands aren't clammy or sweaty or… anything uncomfortable like that. He has callouses on his fingers, from trying to teach himself guitar, presumably, or maybe lacrosse, but - but that doesn't matter, really. What does is that his hands are comfortable enough to hold. It shuts him up for a minute.

But it doesn't take him long to find his voice. "What else are you cool with?"

Hm. "I said you could do anything."

Hak snorts. "Yeah. I don't believe that for a second."

"I don't… think I want you to kiss me," she says, after sitting and thinking on it. Not if she hasn't even kissed Soo-Won yet. There are some things that are sacred, she thinks, and kissing is one of those things that she wants to share with her happily ever after.

Hak nods. "Yeah, well. I figured that one."

"You can put an arm around me, if you want."

"Don't think that one's going to work unless we're sitting down, but noted."

He does have more than a foot's worth of height on her. In her defense, she's never had to sit and think about the logistics of pda with Hak before - and even if she had, she doubts she ever would've. Logistics are boring, and there's romance in spontaneity and making it work.

"... You can kiss my forehead," Yona says, perhaps too bravely. "And my cheek. And my hand."

Something unreadable passes over his expression. Yona doesn't have the time to really think on it; he blinks twice and it's gone, buried down in the murky, mysterious depths of his feelings, and she second guesses herself, briefly, before that crooked smile is back and he squeezes her hand. "If you're sure."

"And if you're sure," she finds herself squeaking. "This isn't just about what  _I'm_ comfortable with. You must have things you're not okay with too, right?"

"Stop jumping off of things and expecting me to catch you."

"Be serious!"

The look he gives her is deafening. "I  _am_ serious."

" _Hak._ "

Even the way he rolls his eyes is exhausting. Yona props a hand on her hips and pouts, because he's such a  _brat_  sometimes, and it's not cute at all. She wishes he'd give her a straight answer for once instead of dodging the question. It's infuriating, the way he offers her a taste of what she wants and then holds the rest overhead, playing keepaway. He's stubborn like that, she thinks, and it's always made her a little crazy. Just once, she wishes he'd be upfront with his feelings.

Yona narrows her eyes at him. Hak stares back at her blankly.

"... Whatever's fine with me," he says finally, expression unreadably static. "Don't worry about it. Whatever you're okay with will be fine."

God, she could throttle him. Typical Hak; such a needless martyr. Not for the first time, Yona wishes he'd just tell her what he wanted for once, instead of effectively becoming her (begrudging) yes man. It's not that she doesn't appreciate the concern for her happiness, because she does, of course she does, but there are times — times like this — that she finds herself worrying if his needs are being met, too.

It's kind of ironic. He's already doing a favor for her and getting relatively nothing in return. Who is she, to worry about his feelings?

Yona shakes her head. "That's not an answer, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Stupid Hak. "You're not being cute at all, you know."

"I'm sorry," he says, leaning in, grinning like a demon. "I don't think I was hired to be cute, your highness. It was my understanding that you wanted your father to be scared of me, not think I'm cute."

"Hak!"

"Maybe we should look into revising our contract," he says, then raises a hand to flick the center of her forehead. "I can wash the eyeliner off."

"Don't you dare."

"I could put on some nicer shoes," he continues, still grinning, still leaning down far enough stand eye-level with her. "Maybe slick back my hair."

She can't imagine Hak in a world like that. It doesn't fit. He's Hak, in skinny jeans and sports jerseys and combat boots, so full of confusing contradictions and infuriating crooked grins, and the thought of him being anything but that feels sacrilegious. He's Hak, and he fits together with her, even if it doesn't make a lot of sense most of the time. But who else would ever agree to fake date her? Yona can't think of another person she'd rather ask.

Even if he's an absolute brat sometimes. Yona flicks his forehead right back. "I need those dirty thrifted boots or else I'm walking."

.

It's a little weird, she admits, leading Hak through the halls of her home like this. Which is stupid; Yona's held his hand plenty of times before, in much less theatrical settings. He's lead her through crowds, with his hand laced tight around her wrist, and she's tugged him over to roller coasters and carousels alike. Realistically, it should be second nature to her by now, a comfortable, casual tether between them.

But it's  _weird_ , dragging him to her father's office. Weird because she doesn't think she's ever actually invited him over to her home before, and certainly never for a mission like this, which feels… well, maybe not quite  _weird,_  but definitely like an out of body experience.

It doesn't matter either way. She has a mission to accomplish, and if all goes well, she's sure Soo-Won would be okay with inviting Hak to the wedding, and sending him home with several nice bottles of wine. Or whiskey. Or… whatever it is he prefers to spend the night broodily sipping on. It's for a good cause, she tells herself, and Hak wouldn't have agreed to helping her out if he thought it would inconvenience him. If one thing's for sure, Hak isn't the kind of person to busy himself with bothersome things. In fact, it's far more likely to find him napping somewhere while avoiding his chores or homework.

"Nice place," Hak says, as she leads him down a hall lined with framed portraits of her. "Terrible feng shui though. This room has bad energy."

"Can it! A hallway isn't even a room anyway."

"It literally is."

"No, it's- a room has furniture! And purpose!"

Hak's legs become massive, muscular anchors, and he stares very pointedly at one of her baby pictures. "Princess. We're  _inside_."

"Rooms don't have to be inside!"

He looks to her, instead, with eyes like a dead fish.

"A patio isn't inside. And neither is a greenhouse." This whole conversation is so off topic, but he has such a charming way of getting under her skin and making her want to throttle him sometimes.

(And by charming, she means he's a smartass and ought to have his mouth washed out with soap).

"... A greenhouse…  _is_  inside…" Hak lets go of her hand only to place his hands on her cheeks and says, very slowly, "It has  _walls._ "

"No! It's outside! It has plants!"

His stare makes her want to punch him, right in the lip ring. "... Houses… have plants too, Princess."

"It has a glass roof!"

"Most places of business do," Hak says, far too quickly.

And yeah, okay. She can't really argue with that one. But still! "There's nothing wrong with my father framing pictures of me. I'm his daughter. His only daughter!"

That shit-eating grin is back. "Bad energy."

" _I'll show you_ _ **bad energy**_ _, you little-!_ "

Yona gets as far as reaching up to grab his shoulders and get one foot on his leg before the door shuts behind her. The darn thing resonates like a gunshot down the hall, and she nearly jumps a mile, jolting like a cat caught on the counter, and Hak only narrowly catches her before she can tumble backwards.

She has about half of a second to assess the situation. Her father, kind, clueless eyes and all, stares blankly at the spectacle before him. Hak's grip seems to unconsciously loosen around her waist. Yona realizes that her dearest, darling boytoy is cracking under the pressure, and she can't have that, can she?

Well, she did want to be an actress when she was like seven. Time to put that childhood dream to the test.

"Oh!" Yona gasps, squirming in Hak's arms. He stiffens for a moment, confused, presumably, as she slings an arm around his neck and nestles herself closer. "Sorry! I guess we got a little carried away.""

Her father's expression doesn't budge. "... Yona?"

"I didn't mean for the two of you to meet this way," she says, then, patting Hak's shoulder. "Sweetie, could you let me down?"

The corner of Hak's mouth twitch. "Sweetie," he mutters to her, amused.

They can iron out the kinks in the plan later. Discuss pet names and which ones won't make him crack like the child he is, apparently. He obeys, though, in typical Hak fashion; raises a brow at her but still bows to her will, allowing her to slip back to her feet safely, one hand still resting gingerly on her hip. She knows it's for her safety, and not at all an intentional addition to their ruse, but still, Yona thinks it really sells the story. What must be Hak's big brother instincts translate pretty cleanly into protective boyfriend, and for all her father knows, that's exactly what he is.

" _Sweetie,_ " Yona repeats, all sugar, no spice. "This is my father. And father, this is Hak."

Her dad blinks once, twice. Nods slowly.

"... My boyfriend," Yona says, with a flourish.  _Soak it in,_ she thinks, almost vindictively. She hopes he takes it all in, Hak's piercings and smudged eyeliner and studded combat boots - Hak's massive, beefy arms, and the dark wash of his hair over his eyes -  _all_ of it.

Father looks at her, then. An entire conversation is exchanged between them, wordlessly.  _You said I could have anyone else._ Hak is the definition of anyone else. Yona couldn't find someone less like clean-cut, sweet-eyed Soo-Won if she tried.

 _Anyone_  else.

"... It's very nice to meet you," her father says finally, bowing his head politely. He even goes as far to offer a hand to Hak to shake.

Hak shakes with the hand not still glued to her hip. The way he holds her is almost possessive, in a way, and Yona finds herself leaning into his chest, one palm laid flat on his pec. She tries to play it off like this is commonplace between them, and not at all like this is the most intimate she's ever been with a man  _period_ , but heat rushes to her face anyway. And, well, that's probably fine, too, as long as Hak doesn't catch her blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Likewise."

Classic Hak. Mincing his words, especially when it comes to his elders. It's perfect.

"I trust you have Yona's best interest at heart," her father says, then, looking to her, smiling serenely. Something drums in her chest, anxious and uncertain. "I really hate to run, but-"

"Wait!" Yona squeaks.

He smiles apologetically. Stubbornly. "I have meetings I still need to attend to. I'm sorry, but my schedule is really full today-"

This can't be happening. She just paraded a bonafide goth in front of him! Yona draped herself all over him, right before his eyes! She'd never even gone as far as to hold Soo-Won's hand in his presence, and she can't understand why her father won't even bat an eye at her blatant display of teenage rebellion. Does she have to shove her tongue down Hak's throat to get a reaction out of him or something?!

Hak dutifully tucks his hands back into his pockets.

"Your schedule is too full for me?" she finds herself accusing. "Your schedule is too busy for your only daughter?!"

"Yona-"

"No, it's fine!" Yona grabs her fake date's arm and hugs it to her chest. Nuzzles up to him like she's a cat and he's her owner or something. "I'll just spend my time cozying up with Hak instead, since your time is too precious for your own flesh and blood-"

" _Yona_."

Her blood's running too hot for her to remember to feel guilty. For as long as she can actively, currently remember, her father's been ridiculously overprotective. She hadn't been allowed to even walk to the park by herself until she was thirteen, and even then, she still needs supervision, most of the time, if she wants to even go to the mall. Hell, her father's so anal about who he leaves his daughter alone with, he won't even let her marry the textbook definition of the perfect man - well, he was anal about it until about two minutes ago, when he walked in on Yona trying to climb a boy decked out in all black like a damn tree.

It doesn't make any sense. He's just being stubborn now! He can't really be okay with this, right? She'd thought he would've cracked by now. Really, she thought he would've cracked the moment Hak rested his hand on her waist.

A man has never touched her like that before. And certainly not in front of her CEO father.

"I'll really do it," she threatens. "I'll marry  _this one_."

Hak shuffles beside her. Her father still doesn't budge. Stares at her, eyes just as gravely stern as they'd been when she'd begged and plead with him to allow her to marry Soo-Won.

"Once you're of age," her father starts, and Yona's blood absolutely  _blazes_  in her veins. It's like a fire has been lit within her, and it threatens to burn through her fingers, sizzling through her curls, crackling embers in her gut. "We can talk about where you would like to go with this, but for now-"

"Forget it!" she snaps, and then she's turning, suddenly, and Hak's wrist is in her hand. Her feet can't move fast enough, and the framed photos blur around her as she storms out, red and deep wood and the pale blue of the walls, nothing more than streaks color fading behind her.

.

_Forget it._

He'll see how serious she can be. And it'll serve him right, too, for acting like her feelings are nothing more than a fleeting flight of fancy. Her feelings are her own, and that alone should warrant importance to him, of all people. The only family he has left, for goodness sake! How could he deny his own daughter her desires?

"Princess," Hak mutters, stumbling behind her. He drags his feet, and she hopes his old combat boots streak on the glossy hardwood floor. Hopes he leaves his mark everywhere he does, so that no matter where her father goes, he knows the hole he's dug himself into. "Hey,  _Princess_."

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. No matter the age - seventeen, twenty-one, thirty, eighty.

"Princess, where are we going?"

"My room," Yona snaps, taking a sharp right, beelining down an adjacent hallway.

Hak sputters behind her. "Princess, I don't think-"

Like a woman possessed, Yona all but kicks her door in. Stuffed animals line her shelves. Pretty, adorned chests of jewelry sit comfortably atop her vanity. Bottles and potions of beauty, concealer and mascara alike, go clattering to the floor as she shoves her way past her pink chair and leaves Hak in her wake.

Her reflection is almost crazed.

If this is a battle of wills, Yona refuses to back down. Her father should know that by now. When it comes to something she's serious about, there's not a force in the world that could stop her, and this - telling her she could have anyone she wanted except for Soo-Won - was a challenge, whether he knew it or not. She can't afford to back down down, to bow to his will. If she does, what will that make her? A pretty little chess piece? The type of girl to allow someone else to decide her future for her?

Not on his life. Her resolution sets in her features, and her gaze hardens, staring deeply into the mirror before her.

Hak blurs in the background, a smudge of black, bleary among the pastels surrounding him.

Yona yanks her vanity drawer open and snatches the pair of scissors left there. Glances back to her reflection and decides she never really liked her hair anyway. She hadn't been the one to braid it meticulously, cooing over the unique shade. She hadn't been the one to tie ribbons in her hair and fluff the mass of curls, as if ceremoniously setting a crown atop her head.

No, that'd always been her father.

The scissors gleam in the light. Fuck it.


	3. we're the thing that love destroys

It's been a long time since Hak has seen the nape of Yona's neck.

He tries not to allow himself to stare for too long. It's pretty, in the most tantalizingly vanilla way. The skin is pale there, scarcely seen by the light of day, and the shape thin and delicate, not unlike a swan's. He wonders if her skin is cold, now that her hair only hits just below her ears, and sort of wants to press a few fingers there, just to see if she's begun to pebble with gooseflesh.

It is surely duty, he thinks, that inspires these urges in him. He has a role to play, after all, even if there's no one around to put on an act for. Only Yoon, muttering, mildly scolding Yona as he himself dutifully evens out her haircut.

Yona is still cute with a bob, though. If it can be considered a bob. It's more like a pixie cut than anything else, hair curling around her earlobes, wavy and poofy and irritatingly adorable. More than that, still, there's so much of her neck on display that Hak has a hard time looking anywhere else than the new expanse of skin that's been revealed to him. She's pretty, even with a quarter of the hair she'd had before - she's pretty, even with skinny shoulders and pale skin and the most prominent collarbone he's ever seen.

Hak is so boned.

"You're so impulsive, Yona," Yoon huffs, still trimming away. Her father's surely not paying him enough to be Yona's hairdresser too, Hak thinks. "What were you thinking?"

She is statuesque. Prim and proper. It comes with years of practice, he thinks. She's had more strangers and professionals touch her hair, aim her face a certain way and dote on her than most girls her age, but that's just part of the territory. She is Yona, close friend and known drama queen, but first and foremost, she is Yona the heiress. Yona, who must upkeep appearances, for the sake of her father's business.

Yona, who just chopped off nearly all of her hair in a fit of righteous fury. And he'd stood by and let it happen.

"I never liked my hair very much anyway," Yona says, far too reasonably, for someone of her temperament. She's been oddly serene about the whole thing, and she's been this way since the first snip of her scissors. It's almost like she's shed away a dead layer of skin and emerged clean, rejuvenated.

Determined. Hak scrubs at his face and wonders just what he's gotten himself into here. There is a sense of duty, of course, when it comes to protecting her - one that goes beyond his, erm, feelings for her - but this seems… farther than he'd expected her to go. Yona is stubborn, yes, and an impulsive, but part of him never thought she'd actually go as far as to alter her physical appearance for the sake of her cause.

Shame on him for that. Really. She's a damn Aries.

Yoon shakes his head and continues trimming the back of her hair. "Your father is going to have a fit."

That seems to placate her even more. "Good," she says, smiling dangerously. The calm's begun to crack, and perhaps the adrenaline has begun to fade, because there are bits of the firecracker he knows and loves beginning to peek through the haze.

"I don't understand you."

"If he thinks he can control my life then he has another thing coming," Yona says. "It's my life. And it's my hair. I can dye it blonde, for all I want!"

Hak cannot picture it. He snorts from behind them and flops back down onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. At least this way he can think clearly, without getting lost in daydreams inspired by the pretty length of her neck, the line of her spine. "I don't know if Soo-Won is into blondes."

Yona doesn't even miss a beat. "He doesn't get to decide that for me either!"

_Good._  Hak smiles, despite himself.

"... But I do still want to impress him," she admits, only half of a moment later. It's almost guilty, the way she says it, and a lot bashful, and - thinking on it only makes his stomach tighten, so Hak presses one of her pillows to his face instead, as she carries on. "Is that bad? I still want Soo-Won to like the way I look, even if it's something I decide for myself."

Yoon answers before Hak has a chance. "That's normal."

"Is it? It kind of feels selfish."

Hak focuses on the sounds of Yoon's scissors, instead of digging too deeply into the morose way Yona sighs.

"Wanting him to be attracted to you is pretty normal," Yoon says, still snipping away. "But it's good that you don't want to compromise what you want to look like. Soo-Won should like you for you."

Thoughtful. And it shouldn't be too hard; Yona is pretty no matter the form, no matter the shape, no matter the length of her hair. Yona could ditch her daily makeup routine and show up at his door in sweats and an oversized shirt, and Hak still knows, instinctually, that he'd still think she was the prettiest girl he'd ever met. And it's sad, in a way, and a lot pathetic, but he chalks it up to the brightness of her eyes, and the general (cute) shape of her nose, and cheeks, and everything.

She's just  _cute_ , he thinks with a sigh. Too cute for her own good. She shouldn't worry about whether or not Soo-Won would like her with blonde hair. Hak can't see how anyone wouldn't.

"... Thanks, mom," Yona says, her smile evident in her tone. "You're the best."

Hak slides the pillow down far enough to catch the shift of light, catch the way Yoon moves to swat the side of her arm.

"I don't remember giving birth to you!" he chastises, then sets the scissors down. "There. It's about as good as it's going to get without a professional touch. Do you want me to contact your hairdresser and set up an appointment?"

Yona touches her cheek. Hak sits up enough to watch her do it. She observes her reflection for a long, dwindling moment, before her hand moves to scrunch her hair, cup it in her hand, really consider her predicament. It's not quite long enough to be a bob, and though not choppy as it'd been when she'd hacked at it, it's certainly not a pretty cut. Gone is her long mane of curls, and instead, she's left with a tousled, messy pixie cut, bright red locks curling around the shell of her ear.

It's cute. It's very cute. And very, very different than anything he's ever seen her sport.

"... No," she says, finally. "I think this is good. This is what I wanted. Thank you, Yoon."

"You're lucky I'm multitalented," he says, but still ruffles her hair in a way that's undeniably fond.

Yona smiles, then presses her hands over her ears. "I don't know what I would do without you cleaning up my messes."

"You'd be hopeless! The  _both of you_  would be," Yoon says, turning, then, to deliver judgement upon Hak, now. From where he's draped on the bed, Hak raises a brow, as Yoon thunders on, hands on his slim hips. "I don't know what  _you_  were thinking, Thunder Beast! Letting her chop off all of her hair like that - you know she's impulsive, and it's dangerous, to cut so close to the neck like that blindly! Especially in the back!"

Ah. It's his turn for mother's wrath. Hak cracks his neck and then bows his head dutifully. "This humble babysitter let his eyes wander for a moment. I beg for forgiveness."

" _Babysitter?!_ " Yona snaps.

Yoon flicks his nose. "Don't antagonize her."

It is his god given right as a human being - and her fake boyfriend - to antagonize her. It is literally written in his contract.

"I just expect better from you. You usually have her best interests at heart," Yoon says, far too knowingly, and Hak decides to ignore the look he gives him in favor of watching Yona go pink with frustration. "You're usually her impulse control. I  _trust you_  to be her impulse control."

"Instructions unclear."

Yoon flicks him again. "At least tell me you were the one who cut the back."

And touch her hair so carelessly? No sir. That is treason of the highest order. A crime against the crown. These hands are not worthy of such blessings. "She's bullheaded," Hak says instead. "I didn't dare get in the way of her horns."

It's not a lie. It's just not the answer Yoon wants, and not the answer Yona wants, either, judging by the way she pivots in her chair to sit on her knees, plant her hands on the back and try to reach over and grab him. Hak dodges her kitten claws easily and pushes her away (gently) with a single palm to her face.

Yoon shakes his head and collects his tools. "You two are exhausting."

"Sorry mother."

" _I didn't give birth to you, either!"_

.

A messy haircut is not enough of a makeover though. For Yona, every day is do or die, and if she's going to commit to an act, it's clear she's going to go all out.

Which is how Hak finds himself at their local thrift store, chaperoning his newly minted fake girlfriend as she sorts through racks of oversized, recycled band tees. He's sure she hasn't even heard of most of them, but still takes into great consideration the design and fit of each. At this rate, they  _will_ be in this store until closing, and they'll be lucky to come out of it with one outfit, max.

Hak wishes Yoon had tagged along. At least to streamline the occasion, if for nothing else. He's also sure Yoon would know more about fit and style, which are two areas Hak has zero expertise in.

"Do you think I could wear this like a dress?" she asks, spinning to face him. She's got some old Nirvana shirt held up to herself, and by the look of it, it's far closer to his size than hers. "I could get a pair of tights and rip them, and maybe some... boots…?"

He must not be giving her the validation she craves. Hak blinks. "... Isn't that a men's shirt?"

"Fashion isn't gendered, you big dweeb!" she huffs, then shoves the shirt back onto the rack. "Honestly, Hak, you're no help at all."

He is here to hold things and watch her swipe her daddy's credit card, not to provide fashion advice. Somehow he doubts she'd like anything he'd pick out for her anyway - even if she's trying to look the part, their tastes are still distinctively different. And it would feel weird, he thinks, to pick out clothes for her to wear. Weird, because he knows he'd gravitate towards things he'd want to see her in.

Like his clothes. Because he is a pervert, apparently.

"I don't know anything about fashion," he admits dryly.

Yona gives him a very obvious once over. "I know."

Ouch? "Ouch."

"But you have a theme," she says, pointing her finger at his chest, then his ripped jeans. "An aesthetic! I need to get on that level if I'm going to be convincing anyone that I'm a cherry bomb now."

Hak can't hide his cackle. "Is that what you are?"

"Hair." She points to her own head instead. "Hello."

Fair enough. Knowing better than to argue with royalty herself, Hak shifts his weight and throws her pile of clothes onto his other arm in order to fish his phone out of his butt pocket. She watches with a quirked eyebrow, still holding onto that Nirvana shirt, as Hak slides his finger and unlocks his phone.

"Who're you calling?" Yona scoots closer and peeks over his elbow.

Isn't it obvious? Hak's stranded at sea without a paddle. "Backup."

.

Not for the first time, Hak is reminded of what a godsend Ayame really is.

The door jingles as she pushes her way through, scanning over the tops of clothing racks until she spots him. There's an obvious moment when she realizes who he's here with - because he's not as subtle as he thinks he is, apparently - and then she gives him this knowing smile that makes his stomach drop.

It's not even an unkind smile. It's just that Hak doesn't like to be read like a damn book, and this - being caught shopping for clothes that are certainly more his taste than Yona's - must read differently than he'd intended it to. Or maybe Ayame just knows how to read between his lines. He supposes confiding in her that he had feelings for someone once has finally come back to bite him in the ass.

"Oh," Yona says, blinking. "Is that her? She's pretty…"

Hak hums nonchalantly and tries to play it cool as Ayame makes her way over to them. "She knows more about fashion than I do. I thought you might want another girl to shop with."

Yona looks to him. "... You were kind of looking at me like a dead fish for a while."

"I don't know what that means, Princess."

" _Princess_ ," Ayame says, glancing between them.

"Oh! Please, not you too," Yona says, nudging Hak out of the way, and he falls back into a conveniently placed seat without any resistance on his part. "I'm Yona," she says, offering a hand out to Ayame.

It seems the rest of the pieces fall into place for Ayame. She looks at him and only smiles wider. "Oh! Yona, of course," she says, then takes Yona's hand in hers and shakes. "I'm Ayame. Hak's told me so much about you!"

Kill him now. Maybe he could off himself with one of the hangers. "Hey."

"Only good things," Ayame promises, then turns and takes the pile of clothes from his hands. "Here, let me see. I'm sure we can make something happen with these, too, but-"

"There's a whole rack of shoes we haven't gone through yet!" Yona says, far too brightly.

"Do they have jewelry too?" Ayame places a hand on Yona's shoulder and begins ushering her towards the fitting rooms. There's a moment while sitting there watching them that Hak fears she'll say too much, that she'll spill his beans for him, but then she smiles so genuinely at Yona that he can't bring himself to regret calling her in. "I was thinking maybe a plaid skirt, too?"

It's fine. It's probably fine. Ayame means no harm. At worse, she'll say something about how fond he is of Yona, which isn't a lie - and it's not the whole truth either, but if she can leave it that, it will still be fine. Probably.

Hak rubs his eyes, slides back in the chair and begins playing solitaire on his phone instead of worrying about it. Whatever happens happens. This whole scheme is a terrible idea anyway, and even if it gives him situational heckling rights over his favorite redhead, Hak still knows it ultimately comes at a price. And if that price is the time limit, or Yona's disgust, should she discover his true feelings underneath his thin veneer of brotherly guard doghood, whatever - it's out of his hands now.

Besides. Things should be fine, as long as he keeps his feelings out of it. And if there's one thing Hak excels at, it's keeping his feelings out of things. Detachment is practically his middle name.

… Practically.

.

He doesn't know how long they're gone for. Hak knows better than to time Yona during her shopping excursions - beauty isn't born overnight, allegedly, even if he really thinks she'd be just as lovely in a potato sack as she is in high-end blouses and designer jeans.

But it's probably best if he's not left to dither with his thoughts.

As if on cue, Ayame taps him on the shoulder. "You're being summoned, Hak."

Ah, well. Boyfriend duties call. It's better than sitting and stewing on how cute his fake girlfriend is, after all, and how he's dug himself into a hole he's not sure he'll ever be able to pull himself out of. Hak decides to put his regularly scheduled self-loathing on hold and cracks his neck before he stands up. "Finally find something to appease little miss thing?"

"She's not that bad," Ayame tuts, swatting his bicep lightly. "Come on. She's in the fitting rooms now trying things on. I think you'll like this one."

"Doesn't matter what I think," Hak says automatically.

"I know," she says, leading him towards the back of the store and far away from where he'd been sitting before. "But I still want to see your reaction. You know, I always kind of thought you'd have a type-"

"That's your own mistake."

"-But she's  _nice,_  Hak." Ayame continues, ignoring him. "A little sheltered, sure, but she's sweet. I like her. A lot of us were kind of expecting you'd bring home a riot girl or something, but she's like… well mannered."

He doesn't know whether he should laugh it off or take offense. Presently, it sort of feels like something's begun purring in his chest, deeply pleased, in a way he hadn't been expecting. It's not real, he reminds himself, not for the first time - what he's doing is pulling the sheet over his friends and family's eyes, not bringing her home to mom and dad, and Hak is so boned when all of this is over.

Still. It's not like he'd ever needed Ayame's approval. Though it is nice, in a weird sort of way. "So she's been on her best behavior, then," Hak says, taking it in stride.

"She's  _nice,_ " Ayame says, insistently. "Just kind of clueless."

Yeah, that's Yona. Spoiled sweet. "Bossy, too," he says, grinning crookedly.

She eyes him suspiciously. Presses her lips together in what appears to be an amused smirk and says, "Well, I guess she doesn't subvert all of my expectations after all."

A lesser man might react to such blatant teasing. Hak glues his mouth shut and stares back at her instead, silently daring his expression to give anything else away. There are things to be said, surely, about his preferences, and what it is about Yona that draws him to her like a moth to a flame - and he likes to think he does a bang-up job of  _not_  letting the whole world know he's positively whipped.

"Um," Yona says, from behind the curtain, like the damn angel in disguise she is, and the moment is broken. "I think I might need a belt for this, Ayame, I don't know…"

The rungs of the curtain shriek as she pulls them aside, and Hak hopes to god his expression remains professionally neutral.

He's not sure he's ever seen the heiress in quite so much black in his life. Yona, though not afraid of it, tends to favor a wider spectrum of colors. She looks lovely in shades of white and pink, in blues and purples, in pastels and jewel tones alike, with that long hair of hers tied back in several kinds of bows and ribbons. For as long as he can remember, she'd been safely pretty, definitely cute, in knee-length skirts and smart, dry-cleaned sweaters, in pearls and neutral-toned eyeshadow, and Hak had always chalked her beauty up to a matter of opposites attracting.

But she's decked out in black now, hair chopped below her ears, and she's not even wearing pants, for fuck's sake. Yona tugs on the hem of that oversized band tee and scoots further out of the dressing room to get a better look at herself in the floor-length mirror.

"Oh," she says, shifting her weight, "nevermind, maybe it's not so bad-"

Hak tries very hard not to gawk at her thighs. Has he ever seen her thighs before? They'd never gone swimming before. He'd always just sort of thought her legs were twiggy and carried the rest of her like duty and left it at that, but - but they're long, and weirdly mesmerizing, even hugged in black thigh-high socks. They're especially distracting while they're being supported by chunky heeled combat boots.

He swallows. Tries very hard from keeping his mouth hanging open. "Your father would have a fit," he tries, but his voice sounds tight and not at all like himself.

Ayame shoots him a smile and claps her hands together. "I could get you a belt if you want! It'd give you more of a waistline, but I think the baggy look sort of works for you. It's very Ariana."

Yona tugs on the hem of the shirt one more time and then raises her hands to mess up her hair instead. "Do I look like a mosh?"

If she raises her arms just an inch more, Hak is sure he'd be privy to a panty shot, and feels sort of faint for even getting a little bit excited about it. To save face, he jabs his hands into his pocket and says nothing at all.

"Yes?" Yona asks, looking over her shoulder at him. With her hair this short, he can see her mother's earrings more clearly than ever, dusting over the slender rise of her shoulders. "No?"

Big brother. Fake boyfriend. Guard dog. Hak grapples with the trainwreck that is his attraction to her and hopes that one of his titles will stick and remind him of who he is. "... We'd have to get you some bike shorts."

"Why let my father sleep easy at night?"

It isn't her father who'll be up late thinking about it. Hak squirms and slouches harder. Perhaps the princess is too comfortable around him after all. "It's not him I'm worried about."

She presses her lips together. "If anyone tries something you'll be there to beat them up anyway," Yona says, like the infuriating, trusting darling that she is. "Besides. I don't have the sex appeal anyway, remember?"

Harsh. Making him eat his words. "Some people are into manic pixie dream girls."

Ayame swats at him. "You look perfect, Yona. I like it. You should make Hak lend you his black nail polish and it'll be a whole look. And one of his denim jackets, too. With the patches."

The purring in his chest threatens to overtake him completely. His heart just might stop. God, who is he, getting this excited in a damn thrift store? So much for detachment being his middle name. It's Yona he's ogling - untouchable, out of his league  _Yona_  - and his self-loathing returns for its second wind.

Whatever, he tells himself. Whatever. If she thinks it'll piss her father off, so be it. It's not like he can't resist her charm - he's been doing it for longer than he cares to remember, really, and it's not like he's an animal or something. Even if she's the hottest girl in the world (which, uh,  _she is,_  apparently) it doesn't mean he won't be able to keep his feelings out of it. And it doesn't mean he won't be able to keep his hands off of her, either.

She's just hot, okay. And he's not disgusting.

She's just… hot.

Hak sort of feels like a dog on a summer day. Really, he kind of wants to stick his head out of a window and pant or something.

"Oh! Boyfriend's jacket!" Yona says, far too brightly, and claps her hands together, too. "Pleaaase, Hak? For me?"

How in the world is he supposed to say no to that?

"Fine," he says, ears burning, unable to come up with a sassy retort under such dire conditions. He tries not to think about the way Ayame's smiling at him now but fails and fears his neck is pink now, too.


	4. boy trouble, we've got double

"Hak," Yona asks, setting down her makeup sponge, "do we have the same type?"

His bed creaks behind her as he shifts. "What."

Turning in her seat, she can't seem to keep herself from pushing the subject, even if it really is none of her business. "I mean. Ayame's so pretty."

Hak's laying in such a way that his head hangs off of the mattress upside down. He raises a brow at her but doesn't respond right away, instead electing to look at her and make her feel stupid for even going there.

Stupid. He's the stupid one. Yona huffs and turns back to face his mirror instead, busying herself with finishing her makeup. Contour next, then she should probably skip the blush, if she wants to look rough and tough, hm. "She's  _pretty,_ " she says, insistently. "And she's blonde! And she has blueish eyes, like-"

Hak grunts and Yona hears his booted foot hit the wall. Stretching his legs? "Don't make it weird."

"You have good taste," she says anyways, smiling. If she's not careful, her contour might be uneven, because she can't seem to keep an even expression when she's talking to him lately. "And she's so nice! And she doesn't take your shit!"

"If I wanted to date my mom I'd be hitting on Yoon already," Hak says sleepily. "Ayame and I aren't like that."

"But if you  _were._ "

"Stop making it weird, Princess."

Yona huffs and moves on to her eyebrows instead. Holds her face steady with one hand and draws the pencil in short strokes across her brow bone.

Fine. If he doesn't want to talk about his feelings then he doesn't have to. No matter how frustrating it is - he's already doing her such a huge favor that it feels needlessly pushy, to pry into his private life.

But still. She can't help the burning curiosity, curling in her gut like liquid fire. It ignites something unignorable in her veins, frantic and frustrating, and she has to assume it's glee for him, that he's managed to find companionship - or at the very least, mutual fondness - with such a nice girl. Sometimes Yona worries about him, the big lug. He never goes out! And when he does, it's to dark, shady venues to mosh or… whatever it is Hak does when he embraces his inner vampire and disappears into the night.

And it's not that she wants to change him. If Hak likes loud music and feeling like the bassline might stop his heart, cool, good for him. Those are parts of him that make up the whole - what she  _does_  want is for Hak to be able to function normally in society. And also not be alone.

Which. Oh. Yona lowers her eyebrow pencil and looks back to him again. "I'm not getting in the way of anything, am I?"

Hak snorts. "If you were I wouldn't be helping you."

"Because if I am, we can call this off," she says, shifting more fully now, in order to face him. "I mean it! She seemed really cool with helping me out yesterday, but if it's too weird, or if it's putting a strain on your relationship-"

Her stand-in boyfriend grunts and rolls onto his stomach. Blankets his arms in front of himself and plops his chin there, right on his forearm, and stares back at her. "Ayame is not my girlfriend."

That's not what she's asking. "Soo-Won isn't my boyfriend, technically."

"I'm not planning on marrying anyone anytime soon," Hak deadpans. "I'm not impulsive."

"I'm not impulsive!" Yona huffs, pointing her pencil at him threateningly. "It's love! Oh, you must not be into her, nevermind - if you were you'd understand! Love just… it makes you crazy sometimes," she finishes, nodding sagely.

Hak stares at her. Raises an eyebrow again.

God, she ought to shake that look off of his face. Mr. Know it all. What does he know about love anyway? Out of the two of them she's the expert on this topic, and that's not something that happens very often. It sort of inflates her head. Makes her smug enough to lean over and flick his nose.

"Crazy in a good way," Yona says serenely. Crazy in a heart racing, blood pumping sort of way. It's not something she's sure she can explain to someone who's probably never had a crush in his life. "I just… want to spend as much time with him as I can. And the rest of my life is the most I can offer."

There's a lopsided smile now, curling at his lips. "What, you don't think Soo-Won just wants your body?"

"He gets body  _and_  soul!" Yona blurts, blushing, swatting at him now. "He gets everything, you punk-"

"More goth, but okay."

"Snot nosed brat," she says, sticking her tongue. "The least cute person I know."

"Now now." He's smiling far more crookedly now. "You and I both know you own a mirror, Princess."

How any one human can be so good at pushing her buttons is beyond her. It's like she's a damn television remote and he's a lazy couch potato, she thinks, standing at once, fully intending to march over there and pile drive him. Whether or not she'll hurt herself on the surprising layer of muscle hidden beneath his worn black t-shirt isn't even a thought in her head - for Yona, there is only righteous fury, and his heart looks particularly ruffleable. If he thinks he can play with fire without getting burned, well, he has another thing coming, and this new version of Yona wears combat boots now. All the better for kicking with.

He has enough time to brace himself, though. Hak catches her as she plummets her dead weight onto him and wrestles her into a pretzel in about five seconds flat, and moony-eyed goth or not, Hak is still a jock, physically.

"Ooof, hey-!"

"What was the goal, Princess," Hak asks, chortling.

She squirms and tries to knee him in the side. Instead, her leg manages to get hooked around his hip. There's a moment where he falters and Yona takes the chance and runs with it.

Hak grunts. Yona manages to get on top of him and press her knees on either side of his hips. Panics, realizes that his arms are stronger than hers, and just sort of… plants her palms on his chest. Presses down, as if her kitten strength will be enough to stop him.

It's surprisingly not enough to encourage an immediate retaliation. Hak lets out a breath and blinks up at her, and it's  _almost_ cute, how wide his eyes are. The dumbstruck expression is a nice change. It's refreshing, to wipe that smug grin off his face every now and again. Maybe she should work harder to keep Hak on his toes.

He gapes at her for another moment. His chest rises and falls with his breath, and the worn cotton of his shirt is a flimsy layer between her hands and the heat of his skin.

Her wrists wobble as she leans forward, resting her weight on her hands. "Who's the boss now, huh?"

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows. It's weirdly distracting.

"... You, your highness," Hak says, without a hint of irony.

It makes her cheeks burn. Indignant, she huffs and shakes her head - now he's the one who's making things weird! Here she'd been, just trying to have a friendly conversation with her good friend come stand-in boyfriend Hak, and he has to go and look at her as if she'd stripped him naked or something. God. It's like the guy has never been conquered before, like he's never had anyone challenge him, just because of his towering height and admittedly fantastic build.

What's so weird about talking about their mutual crushes anyway? Isn't that what friends do? Have years of chick flicks lied to her?

"I don't know why you keep calling me that." Yona pouts. "It's not my name. And I'm not that bossy."

"With all due respect," Hak starts, "you  _are_  sitting on me."

"You started it!"

"Did I."

"You're not wording that like a question. Why aren't you wording it like a question?"

Hak raises an eyebrow at her but doesn't say anything. Doesn't move, either. For all of his surprise, it seems he doesn't actually have a problem with her sitting on him like this - and Yona thinks perhaps it'd been just the shock of someone actually having the guts to shove him over that had him momentarily tongue tied. There's not another reason she can think of that could possibly shut him up like that. God knows she's been trying for years to get him to cut the teasing.

"Whoaaaa," comes a voice from behind, and though Hak jolts beneath her, Yona takes the adult approach and instead looks over her shoulder before she reacts.

Sure enough, Hak's kid brother Tae-Yeon stands in the doorway, adorable baby-blue baseball hat turned backwards, Pokeball in hand. "Are you guys wrestling?"

Nothing to worry about. "Your big brother tapped out," Yona says, gleefully.

"You cut your hair!" Tae-Yeon gasps, dropping the Pokeball at his side. He scampers over and pats her knee in awe, and Yona swings herself off of Hak's lap before their grandfather has a chance to come in and catch her straddling his oldest grandson, too. "Whoaaaaa!"

He's probably the cutest kid in the entire world. Yona cannot begin to fathom how the two of them are related, even if it's via adoption; they'd been raised by the same wonderful old man, and somehow Hak had turned into a complete gremlin and Tae-Yeon a little angel.

The duality of man, she supposes. For every Hak of the world, there must surely be a Tae-Yeon. Or a Soo-won.

"And new clothes!" He pokes a finger at her fishnet tights. "Issat Hak's shirt?"

"You know your big brother's shirts?"

Tae-Yeon shrugs a little and hops up to sit beside her on the mattress. "Kinda," he says, kicking his feet in the air. "I like wearing them for pajamas a lot. But I can tell because it's really big on you! You're not going to sleep yet, are you?"

"It's too big on you, too," Hak says, turning his hat back around.

"But Yona's a grown up like you," he says, pouting.

 _See,_  she thinks, far too smugly. She even shoots Hak a satisfied grin and he shakes his head at her.

"Speaking of pajamas." Hak hefts his little brother into the air and sets him on his shoulders. "Isn't it about time you start washing up for bed, little man?"

"But Yona's here!"

She swears her heart grows three sizes. "But I'm hereeee," she finds herself whining too, reaching out.

Hak shoves her face away with ease, a single palm to her forehead and a light shove. She tumbles back onto the mattress as Hak stands, baby brother giggling as he's suddenly raised several feet into the air. From where he sits on Hak's shoulders, Tae-Yeon can easily reach the ceiling, and proves so with a victorious slap as his big brother crooks that cute half-smile and begins carrying him out into the hall.

And, okay, fine, Yona thinks, leaning back onto her hands and watching the two of them chatter and giggle like kids - maybe Hak is cute, in his own sort of sarcastic, annoying way. Or he's cute when he's with kids, at least - and especially his own kid brother.

Or maybe Tae-Yeon's shouldering all of the cute in the family, and Hak seems cuter just by proximity. Yeah. That's probably it.

.

It's not a limo, but there's a certain charm to Hak's old car; and for the job at hand, an old 90's…  _something_  vehicle certainly fits the bill. Besides, who cares if there are crank windows and the AC doesn't quite work the way it's supposed to - in all reality, Yona's just more impressed that her newly minted fake boytoy knows how to drive a stick shift than anything else.

Hak raises a brow at her when she expresses such awe. "It's a car."

"But!" Yona plops back in her seat and tucks her legs beneath her, hands pressed to her knees. There's something classy about driving a stick that she can't really put into words. And… well, she's not sure if classy is what she's looking for here in this transaction of a relationship they have currently, but still - it's  _charming,_ and it's  _fun,_  and it's a fact she hasn't fully been able to appreciate until this very moment.

The wheels whiz as Hak takes a right turn and pulls them onto the highway. "But?"

"But it's cool," she says, finally, begrudgingly.

His resulting smile makes her stomach burn. "Cool."

"Don't let it go to your head!" But she's smiling, too, and even if he's a gremlin sometimes, his satisfaction is infectious. Hak isn't one to showboat. Hak's not even one to brag about the little things - he's much more lowkey than she is about most things, really - but there's something deeply rewarding about making Hak feel good about himself.

Within reason. She really can't let him get to his head. If she's not careful, he'll get too used to her complimenting him, and then he'll just expect it from her. And the last thing Yona needs is to give Hak reason to tease her.

"Soo-Won doesn't know how to drive a stick," Yona continues.

Hak exhales through his nose, eyes still on the road. Hands on the wheel. "He doesn't need to know how to," he says, streetlights washing beams of yellowed-light over him as they speed down the empty highway. "He has drivers for that."

"I don't know how to drive a stick either."

"You don't know how to  _drive_  at all." He's not wrong, but Yona still sticks her tongue out at him and leans over to flick his shoulder. "And you'll probably never need to learn how."

"I still think it'd be a worthwhile skill to have," she says, pouting.

Hak grunts noncommittally.

Ugh. There he goes again. Yona simmers or a moment, pressing her back against the cool, worn leather of the passenger seat. "I'm sick of everyone babying me all of the time," she says, and there's something righteous burning in her gut now, stifled and angry. "You don't know what it's like, being told what to do and say all of the time - it's exhausting, you know! It's hardly living like a person at all. I'm just- It's like being a doll."

"Princess."

"And  _that!_ " She claps her hands back onto her knees. "Calling me that all of the time! It's like nobody sees me as a real person, they just see me as my father's daughter, or, or - like the next potential head of the company!"

Hak says nothing. His lips press together and he glances at her, taking his eyes off of the road for only a moment.

She could melt there. As if Hak had ever meant to put her in this box. As if he wasn't just following the status quo. "I want to be able to make my own choices," she admits, heat breaking in her stomach, fraying, spreading through her bloodstream. "And I want to be able to take care of myself. And do things."

"Like drive."

"Like drive." Yona nods to herself, even though Hak's got his eyes back on the road now.

It's silent, then. A good fifteen minutes of the trip is spent in silence, and the only noise is the staticy hum of his radio, questionable reception, broken antenna. Somewhere beneath the audio fuzz, Yona thinks she hears guitars racing toward a crescendo, and then that heat breaks fully in her, shattering like a balloon.

"If this is going to work," she starts, "you're going to have to stop handling me with kid gloves."

Hak doesn't say anything.

"I mean it." She is Yona, seventeen going on eighteen, princess going on queen. What good is adulthood if she's never allowed to embrace it? If the rest of her life is meant to be spent grasping at the coattails of the men in her life, well, then she doesn't want it.

The rumbling of the engine beneath them simmers to a quiet lull. Hak puts the vehicle into park and then turns to face her, old leather groaning beneath him as he sets a hand on the headrest of her seat. "Is that what this whole thing is about?"

Yona doesn't blink. "What?"

"Are you trying to get married because you want to feel independent?"

Those puzzle pieces don't quite match up in her heart. Trying to force those two together feels like shoving two magnets together - the same ends of two magnets. No attraction. No cohesion.

"I love Soo-Won," Yona says, very surely, staring Hak head on. She  _does_ , and it doesn't matter if he's prince charming, because being with him will still free her, surely, from this in-between she feels so lost in, this adolescent purgatory. "I've always wanted to marry him. Growing up hasn't changed that."

Hak's resulting slow nod makes her blood itch. He pulls the key from the ignition and then cracks his neck. "As long as you're sure," he says, then reaches over to ruffle her hair. "Yona."

It's the first time he's called her by name in a long time. That itching in her blood becomes a full-blown storm, and she is Yona, soon to be crowned queen. She is Yona, and this boy before her with the moonlight eyes and dark, dark eyeliner takes nothing with him - he only crooks a half-smile at her, turns, and kicks the driver side door open.

.

"Earplugs," Hak says, holding an open palm out to her.

Even from outside the venue, Yona can already hear the screaming of electric guitars and feel the rumbling of the bassline in her very bones.

But that would be chickening out. Who would she be, if she went and babied herself, even after that spiel she'd given him in the car just now? Yona shakes her head and presses his hand shut. "No thanks. I'm a bad bitch now."

It catches him off guard. Certainly startles a laugh out of him. "If you say so."

But Hak still pockets the earplugs anyway. Whatever. She'll show him. One way or another, she'll get her guard dog to believe her. Part of her thinks that'd been the problem, why her father hadn't reacted the way she thought he should've - it's one thing, to think his daughter is simply settling for a bad boy. It's another thing altogether to think his daughter is right there with him, knee-deep in anarchy and loud, wailing guitars.

She has something to prove, now. Yona hardens her resolve and rubs her eyes.

"You're smudging your eyeliner," Hak says.

"Exactly."

He cracks that half smile again and ruffles her hair. It's more brotherly than romantic, and though it's comfortable, and strokes something nostalgic and safe in her chest, it's not what she needs right now. If this is going to work, if this whole fake relationship is going to mean something, Yona needs to up the ante.

So she grabs his arm and throws it around her shoulders. Slips her hand around his waist and rests it on his hip.

There's a pause in him. Yona takes the initiative again and hooks her finger in his belt loop.

"You can touch me," she mutters into his ribs. Presses her face against the side of his chest and nestles herself there, in the crook of his arm, and it's comfortable here, too, in a completely different way. Maybe it's just Hak and who he is that brings her comfort, no matter the position, no matter who is holding who, no matter how close they are - but it's different than before. It's new, and it's weirdly intimate.

But Hak settles into the role she's assigned him. Faithful, loyal Hak cups her shoulder and tugs her against him, and the two of them make their way in, welcomed by screaming guitars and the steady thumping of the drums. And this is the cadence of her heart now, she thinks, even as her ears ring - for the time being, this is who she is. And she might as well embrace it.

 _Is this okay,_  she wonders, but the thought is nearly drowned out by the rumbling of the bassline. It rumbles all the way through her chest, a brand new heartbeat, and it feels alien and distant.

It's hard to walk in this position, though. It could be easier, perhaps, if she was a foot taller, or if Hak was a foot shorter, but their height difference makes these things difficult, and instead of holding her around the shoulders, Hak decides to lead her through the crowd with a steady hand on her back. He has one hand hooked over her left shoulder and the other spread across her upper back, and there's a nagging, curious part of her that wishes he'd slip his hand down and rest that hand on her lower back, instead.

That's what boyfriends do, isn't it? And she'd given him permission. It's not like they'd be tongue kissing or anything - even if it sort of brings heat to her face, the longer she sits and thinks on it - they just have a point to prove.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"YES," Yona shouts.

She can feel his laughter through his touch. "Okay," he mutters, leaning down, so close to her ear that she can feel his breath in her hair.

The heat in her face refuses to quit. Stupid. How old is she, thirteen? This is just Hak. Hak, who's doing his best to both keep tabs on her in a crowd and also play the role she's appointed him.

"Water?" he asks, and he's close to her so that he doesn't have to shout too, she realizes.

Still, it's closer than he's been to her face in… well,  _ever_ , she thinks, and Yona pivots toward him, bravely, stubbornly. She won't turn away in the face of danger. No, she'll face the fire head on, will embrace this new life she leads, will prove herself unafraid. She is Yona, riot girl, bad bitch, or… whatever it is her father's most afraid of - she's Yona, adult, and intimacy doesn't frighten her. Nothing scares her anymore.

 _For Soo-Won,_  she thinks, standing on her toes.

"Thanks," she mumbles, taking his jaw into her hands and pulling him down toward her, and his cheek is warm beneath her lips. His  _skin_  is warm, and his jaw a little stubbly, but she finds the scruff isn't as uncomfortable as she always thought it might be.

His expression doesn't change. Hak swallows, and if Yona lets her hands slide down his throat on the way back down, well, then they're both just victims of circumstance.


	5. i'm two quarters and a heart down

If he had a tail, Hak's sure it would be wagging.

Stupid. Hak the guard dog fetches his master a glass of water and tries schooling his expression into something less pleased. The smile is as thrilled as he is, and Hak thinks the look on his face must be a little frightening, judging by the bartender's reaction. He takes a few quick breaths, in and out, and reminds himself of who he is and where he stands - and reminds himself, too, of why Yona had even kissed him at all.

If he can call it a kiss. She'd kissed his cheek. Simple and sweet. Chaste. Really, the sort of smooch mothers give their babies, the sort that children give each other when they're forced to say goodbye to one another. Is he really so pathetic that even a fleeting peck on the face is enough to make his tail wag?

Apparently. Hak tries scowling instead. Finds that works better than trying to keep his expression neutral, and turns to deliver her highness her refreshments.

She's hard to pick out in a crowd. Even with her new hairstyle and clothes, even with all of the eyeliner she'd caked onto her face,  _even_ with the brightness of her hair - well, she blends in here. Even if Yona's fiery mane is natural, stark red hair is sort of trendy for this scene, and it's not like his little fake girlfriend is, well, tall. She's tiny. Barely reaches his shoulders.

Crap. Hak beelines for where he'd left her, hoping, miraculously, that his curious, stubborn heiress hadn't decided to go adventuring on her own. Even as he's pushing his way through the crowd, he knows such a wish is a pipe dream. With the way she'd been sizing up the front doors before they'd even walked in, or that look she'd had in her eye when she'd allowed her hand to trail down the front of his shirt after she'd planted a kiss on him - well, it's clear Yona's out for blood tonight.

For  _whose_  blood is yet to be discovered. Perhaps Hak shouldn't be the one doing the hunting.

Ah, well. Her safety is more important than a little bloodshed. What's the worst she can do to him anyway? Kiss him? He'd already weighed the pros and cons of this whole act anyway when he'd accepted this role. It's not like Hak doesn't already know he's stranded upstream without a paddle; he's fucked, he will always be fucked and will continue to be fucked long after this facade has ended.

But it's whatever. If it makes her happy, was it really all that bad? Hak doesn't tug on his leash. He trots far too faithfully after his master, drink in hand. Besides, it isn't like he doesn't already know how this ends. He's not foolish enough to believe, even for a moment, that this will end in happily ever after for the two of them.

He finds his master without much effort. Yona  _is_  out for blood tonight, and proves so by fighting her way onto a table, of all things. That's fine. What's less fine is the gaggle of men who've begun surrounding their newest manic pixie dream girl like moths to a flame.

Bottom feeders. Hak elbows his way through the crowd. "Princess."

The music is loud and Yona must pretend not to hear him over it. She continues jumping, or dancing, or… whatever it is she's trying to do. Moshing? By herself? On a table?

"What are you doing," he deadpans.

"Is that for me?" she asks, a bit louder than she probably needs to.

Still, she takes the glass from him and takes a long sip of water, and the crowd around her shuffles closer. Hak has half a mind to throw elbows and knock some teeth out but resists, barely, instead electing to hold a hand out to her and hopefully convince her to relocate.

No such luck. She hands the glass back to him and continues her thrashing.

Typical Yona. Stubborn and impulsive. Hak sighs and shoves the empty glass at some guy on her left, who's no doubtedly trying to sneak a peek beneath the oversized shirt she's wearing as a dress. "Yona."

She stumbles. Hak reaches to steady her, and manages to do so before any of her newly acquired fanclub can try the same - he makes contact with her knee and her resulting gasp kicks him in the gut. But now is not the time to be getting flustered by her bare skin, and Hak is her friend first before he is a man attracted to her, and reaches for her hand, next, slowly ushering her toward the edge of the table she's co-opted.

"Hey," she mutters, and as soon as she's close enough, Hak braces a hand on her hip instead of her knee. "I was having fun-"

"You can have fun away from men who're trying to throw themselves at you."

Yona huffs. Allows him to lead her anyway, surprisingly submissively, and Hak doesn't let himself follow that particular train of thought. "What," she says, "are you jealous?"

Not exactly. Still, he has a role to play, and if Yona's taking this ploy seriously, who says he can't, too?

"I think  _your boyfriend_  has the right to be," he says, loudly enough for it to be impossible for the school of fish around her to ignore. They don't disperse the way he hopes they will. And, well, he's her boyfriend for now, even if it's in name only, and if that's who she wants him to be for the time being, so be it. He'll be the big scary overprotective boyfriend she wants. He'll scare the shit out of her father. He'll scare the shit out of any man trying to sneak a peek beneath her skirt.

Her cheeks are suspiciously pink. He knows its not out of anything but pleasant surprise. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was just dancing while I was waiting for you to come back, and then they showed up, and I thought it was because I was really good at it or something, so-"

It's still weird for him to be eye level with her hips. Hak links an arm around her waist and hefts her into his arms, allowing her to slide, slowly, down his chest, until her feet are planted safely on the floor and there aren't wandering eyes seeking out that magical place between her thighs. He thinks not of how warm she is pressed against him, or how soft she'd been, sliding so neatly against his chest, or how hers had pressed against his - he'd said once (or twice) that Yona lacked a certain sex appeal, and it'd certainly been to throw her off his trail. Or perhaps it'd been to hammer it home for himself - that Yona wasn't somebody he could look at with such heated eyes.

Still. He's not made of stone, despite his best efforts. And okay, maybe he'd been a bit jealous of bottom feeders gawking so openly at Yona, the untouchable, and hates himself for it. Here he still is, perpetuating that pedestal she's trying to dearly to climb down from.

" _Boyfriend_ ," Yona mumbles, nose pressed to his chest.

Something purrs in his gut, ancient and strangled by his leash. Hak links an arm around her shoulder and glares at the residual men, still lingering. "Show's over," he grunts. "Get lost before I call the cops. She's underage."

.

It's less like partying and more like babysitting.

Yona is hard to keep tabs on. She's faster than she looks, and those legs of hers are deceptively long; she squeezes and sneaks her way through a crowd of punks and goths in ways Hak can't. Part of it might be that she's a cute girl, and some of these losers have never spoken to woman in their life, but she's also compact, and her shoulders cut through moshing men and duck beneath thrashing arms.

He does his best. Puts on his best scary face and stares down men who get too handsy. Tries to plant himself as close by as he can without getting in smacking zone of her enthusiastic dancing arms and hands. There's not much of a difference between fake boyfriend and loyal guard dog, he thinks, and it's a little funny, because he's been playing this role even before she'd knighted him. Playing pretend isn't that different from reality, especially when the only thing that's changed is that she's a bit more touchy-feely with him.

He really sort of likes it when she's touchy-feely with him. He also hates it.

It's a double ended blade.

Still, it's nice to see that she's having fun. The whole scene is not one he would've pegged her for, but it's refreshing to see how easily she falls into his step. That purring in his gut refuses to quit, and Hak decides that it's the rumbling of the bass that makes his heart stutter in his chest, and not the pride that comes with Yona fully embracing his venue and hobby of choice.

"This is so fun!"

"So you like being a riot girl after all."

If the crown fits. Yona beams and boogies her way over to him, then takes his wrists into her hands and forces him into step with her. She's not very good at dancing, and she doesn't have the best sense of rhythm, but Hak finds it's still easy to fall under her spell anyway.

"You know," she says after headbanging, "I can see why you like going to these things."

"What, shows?"

"It's like I'm somebody else for a bit." Hak wishes he could pretend she was somebody else, too. But he doesn't comment on such and allows her to finish, watching, distractedly, how she brushes her hair back from her face, how the lipgloss makes her hair stick to her lips. "It's freeing."

Her hair is frizzy and standing on end. It's the cutest thing he's ever seen. Hak takes to smoothing it down instead of responding.

It's like the light's finally clicked on in her head. She gasps and runs her fingers through her fluffy curls. "Oh!" she yelps, jumping back, "does it look bad? Shoot-"

"Your eyeliner is smudged," he says, without missing a beat. "You fit right in."

He can take the girl from the throne, but he can't take the princess out of the girl. She gives him a short, panicked smile. "I'll be right back," she says, excusing herself. "I'm just going to freshen up in the bathroom for a sec-"

"I'll come with you," he says automatically.

Yona's lips press together. "Um, no you won't."

"I'll stand  _outside_ the bathroom."

"You're not my dad!" she says stubbornly, and stops only to poke him in the stomach before slipping her way through the crowd in that uncanny way of hers.

.

It doesn't stop him from worrying over her.

Stupid. He's not her father, and he ought to remember that - but he is her boyfriend, even if it's all a farse, and he thinks that still allots him a certain amount of concern points. Beyond that, even, he's her friend, and after watching men flock to her table for a chance of touching a real life girl, it's clear that he has good reason to hover. There's something about her that's so magnetic - and Hak would be lying if he didn't feel that same pull, even if there's so much guilt tied up in it that sometimes it's hard to tell what's born from attraction and what's born from responsibility.

Still. He knows how men can be. Knows how clueless Yona can be, and how needlessly kind she can be - and more than that, Hak knows how frustratingly stubborn and headstrong his faux girlfriend is, and it's that and that alone that really motivates him to fight through the crowd and stand outside the ladies restroom like a chaperone, waiting.

If he gets weird looks from the exiting women, whatever. Hak keeps his head down and his arms crossed as he leans against the wall and waits dutifully.

He prepares to wait a while, of course. Yona is nothing if not vain, and especially when it comes to her hair, she's been known to fret. Which is funny, considering how little hair she has left - but then again, the memory of her recklessly chopping it off is still so fresh, and dithering on it sort of makes his fingers itch and his throat tighten.

She'll turn him gray early.

A while becomes too long, eventually, and Hak gets sick of waiting. This guard dog still has a job to do, and so when the next girl leaves the restroom - a girl with bright blue eyes and long, long dark hair - he clears his throat.

She jumps. Squints at him. "Hello?"

"... Is the redhead still in there?"

Dark hair continues to narrow her eyes at her. Two other, taller women begin to flank her protectively. "What's it to you?"

Ah. Well. Hak supposes this could come across as a bit predatory. Hell. "... Just wanted to make sure she's not getting sick in there."

The girl stares at him for a long time, obviously suspicious. Hak supposes he doesn't blame her; he knows there is an alliance of sorts when it comes to women in bar bathrooms, and he doesn't fault them for it; hell, the whole reason why they'd feel the need to unionize is the same reason why he's hanging out here waiting for her to come out anyways. Still, she doesn't know that, and it's not like Hak's known for being looking nonthreatening.

Finally, though, she relents. "Yeah. She's combing her hair."

"Still?"

"Frizzy haired girls have it worst of all," she says, sniffing. "I gave her some liquid courage to get her through it."

Hak blinks. "What."

"She just looked sad! Girls don't let other girls sadly comb their hair in the bathroom."

 _Liquid courage._  Hak's brain bluescreens for a moment and then he's rubbing his face. "She's- you didn't look at her hand for a stamp, did you-"

Dark haired girl sticks her note in the air. Shrugs. "She needed a pick me up! Get over yourself. What, are you some kind of overprotective boyfriend or something?"

Hak grits his teeth. "Or something."

"She's fine. It's not like I got her wasted or anything. I just gave her a shot of tequila. It won't kill her."

 _Why would you bring tequila into the bathroom with you,_ Hak finds himself thinking, but the women on either side of this shorter girl give him a  _look,_ and he wisely shuts up. Whatever. At least he has confirmation on her location. "Thanks," he says instead.

She raises her brow, even as she's turning to leave. Gives him a look over her shoulder, a long, lingering stare that sort of makes Hak feel like he's being held under a microscope. "... For what?"

Hak stares pointedly at the bathroom door, as if the weight of his stare could will it open, could will Yona into the hallway. "Talking to her."

The girl shrugs and allows her friends to usher her back onto the dance floor - and, presumably, away from the large man hanging outside the women's bathroom. Whatever. It doesn't really matter what people think of him. It never has. If Hak cared what other people thought of him, he wouldn't wear as much black, wouldn't rip his sleeves, wouldn't moodily pick at his bass guitar at three in the morning as often as he does. When it comes down to it, there's really only one or two people he cares for the opinion of.

"Yona," he calls, still outside the bathroom door.

There's shuffling on the other side of the door. Hak can hear the faucet switch off. "Mmh!"

"Yona," he says again, still testing how her name feels on his tongue. It's weird, calling her by her given name and not by any nickname that he's hidden behind for years. "You okay in there?"

The door squeaks, and then Yona's poking her little red head out from the bathroom, narrowing her eyes. "You're not my dad! Don't worry so much, you big lug-"

He grabs her wrist and tugs her out without further thought. She stumbles after him and whines but doesn't trip and fall. So maybe it'd really only been one shot of bathroom tequila and nothing more. Maybe his fake girlfriend can hold her liquor better than he thought she'd be able to.

Which is surprising in itself. Beyond Yona being seventeen and a booze virgin, she's also barely more than five feet tall, and can't weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet. Of course he's going to worry. Reputation dangerous venues are one thing - actually dangerous situations are something else entirely, and he's in the business of worrying her father, not getting her killed or shucked on the side of the road somewhere.

"Ow," she whines, squirming. "Grip, Hak, leggo-"

He loosens his fingers around her wrist but doesn't release her entirely. "Sorry."

"Don't know your own strength?" she asks, and there's a curious smile tugging at her lips, a pink heat warming along her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose. "Big lug."

Such words of endearment for her boytoy. Hak wonders if maybe he should have a drink too, just to get through this night with his heart still intact.

Yona selfconsciouly combs her fingers through her hair with her free hand and looks up at him. "I- does it look okay? I tried wetting it, but once it frizzes there's never any going back…"

She looks every bit the rock and roll vamp queen she'd been aiming to be, poofy hair and all. It's almost cuter, the way her hair refuses to sit and behave, the way the back stands up on end, and the way her bangs seem to fan over her forehead - but he can't tell her that, even under the ruse of pretend, and so he shrugs instead and grunts noncommittally. What more can he offer her?

That smile falls, just a bit, as she begins to comb more vigorously. "Ugh. Maybe headbanging was a bad idea."

"Your neck won't thank you for it, that's for sure."

She slips her wrist from his fingers and elbows him in the gut. "Shush, you."

Soo-Won would compliment her kindly. He knows it. Soo-Won would offer her a pretty smile and tell her she looks lovely no matter what she does, no matter the haircut, no matter the texture - but Soo-Won isn't here, and the whole reason Hak's here is because Yona can't think of anyone less like her prince charming. What a corner she's backed him into.

Indecision will eat him alive. He is Son Hak, coward. He scratches the back of his neck and settles with, "You look fine."

Even without looking at her, he knows she's turned her eyes to him, and her stare could burn him alive. Stupid. What's he doing, feeling so nervous around her? They've done this song and dance a thousand times, he's lived this life a hundred times - attraction to her is not new. Being unable to act upon it is not new either.

What is new is how long her stare lingers.

The back of his neck feels hot. Stupid. "You fit right in. Relax."

"But-"

It's  _cute._  He should tell her that the way her hair looks is cute, and should tell her that there's a part of him that wants to run his fingers through the soft curls, even as short as she's cut them.

He doesn't. He is Hak, boyfriend only in name. This is not his role to play in her life. Prince Charming has never been his title.

"You're a cherry bomb now," he finds himself saying instead. "Remember?"

It's weird how in tune with her feelings he is these days. Or maybe she's just not very good at not broadcasting how she feels; Hak doesn't have to look to know that she's smiling. He just sort of knows, instinctively, and though it lifts a weight off of his chest, it plunges that guilt deeper, deeper, a sharp knife to the gut.

He should tell her. Should tell her his motivation, even if it doesn't constitute as a traditional ulterior motive. It's not fair to her, he thinks, to harbor feelings that she's not aware of, to allow her to smile at him like that and take his hand into hers and not know. It's like hiding behind a mask. It's cowardly.

He can't bring himself to do it.

Yona tugs him onto the dance floor and smiles big, and this time he faces her, even as that knife in his gut twists. They play pretend and dance, Yona bouncing to and fro, hands gripping the front of his jean jacket. The way her hair hits her cheek as she jumps is the most adorable thing he's ever seen, and that ancient longing in his bones whispers sweet nothings.

A lesser man could pretend that this was for real.  _This_  - the hand holding, leading her through crowds with a hand between her shoulder blades, the smiles she keeps sending him,  _her lips on his cheek_  - none of it is real. It's to prove a point. To scare her dad, because he's the textbook definition of the type of guy one should never bring home to mom and dad.

There's an insult in there somewhere. He chooses not to face it. It's not like his self loathing needs any more material.

There are bigger things to worry about. Hak leans over and asks, "You feel alright?"

She quirks her head. Raises a brow. "Huh?"

"Your stomach. The tequila."

Yona pinks, then pushes his face away. "Don't baby me so much! Relax! I'm a  _bad bitch,_  I can handle a  _shot,_  don't-"

She is seventeen. In the middle of a hot dance floor. Sandwiched between people both taller and larger than her. This isn't his first rodeo. Hak pushes her hand away and stares at her expectantly. "Yona."

She bunches up her nose. "It's fine! I just feel warm, and, um, I guess my face is  _really_  warm, but-"

Riot girl taking over the world. Hak sighs and relents, only because he knows, instinctively, that pushing will get him nowhere. Yona is as stubborn as she is lovely, and especially now that she's on this maturity kick, there's not a force in the world that could stop her. And for as frustrating as it is, watching her bulldoze through life, watching her throw her hands overhead and  _dance,_  it's also endearing, in a weird way. Charming.

He should stop sugarcoating it. It's hot. She's hot. He hates how hot she is.

She'll turn him gray early.

The song ends and Yona stops thrashing around. She looks up at him, a laugh caught in her throat, eyes bright, despite all of the eyeliner rimming them. The hottest raccoon he's ever encountered, and that knife rips out of him, and all at once, Hak feels like his guts are spilling out onto the dancefloor.

"... Oh," she says, more softly, as the music switches to something acoustic. Something sluggish and morose. Her hands shift back to gripping his jacket, and he wonders if she could cauterize the wound, wonders if she could press her hands to his ribcage and force his heart back inside.

Yona shifts back and forth, like it's a middle school dance in here, and she's trying to slow dance with her quarterback crush for the first time.

_Oh._

"You're too short," Hak says automatically. He hadn't been entirely serious, thinking about Yona forcing his wound shut - pressing her to him wouldn't lessen the bleeding. If anything, it'd run him dry quicker.

What a corner she's backed him into. Does she expect him to bleed out on her? Does she know?

His princess pouts. Tugs on his jacket persistently. "That's quitters talk."

Her pull on him is the most deadly siren's call. He is but her humble servant, it seems, and she wields her word like a weapon. Tilts her head and asks, "please, Hak?" and it's like he's never stood a chance to begin with.

Hak takes her head and presses it into his chest. Perhaps it'll be easier if he can't see her face. If he can't gaze dopily into her eyes maybe it'll be easier for him to write this whole thing off like it hadn't been devastating. It's pathetic; when he'd accepted the job, he'd known what he was getting into, which feelings he was putting on the line. To get so choked up at the way she was looking at him, to feel his blood sing as she links her arms around his waist and snuggles her head into his chest - it's unreasonable. It's suicide.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Part of him had thought it would never get this far. Like her father would take one look at him in his combat boots and towering height and relent, instantly, and then Yona would be planning her wedding to Soo-Won and Hak could go back to pretending like he never had any feelings to begin with. Normal stuff.

Some guard dog he is. Servants have no chance with their masters. He knows that. He's known it for years, since the first time she'd smiled at him and his heart had done that little racing thing it's doing right now.

He needs to be put back into his place, he thinks, even as his hands wrap around her, too, and pull her close. There's no space between them. What can he possibly hide, when she's right there, pressed to his chest? Surely she must hear the beating of his heart. She's dense but not clueless. Yona is stubborn, not  _stupid._

Hak banks on that tequila making her a little slow on the uptake. He takes a deep breath and schools himself back into bored indifference. Fake boyfriend.  _Fake_ boyfriend. Effectively paid muscle. Scary arm candy. The opposite of what she wants.

The  _opposite of what she wants_.

Yona turns her face and presses her cheek to his chest instead of her nose. "Soo-Won's never taken me dancing before," she says, far too dreamily.

He just might die here. Her ear is pressed to him now, and if his heart commits mutiny and blows his secret, Hak will never recover. "He's clumsy," Hak says after a moment.

The acoustic guitar swells into a melody. Yona is terrible at keeping a beat, so Hak takes the lead, out of necessity. He guides her back and forth, back and forth, hoping, desperately, that maybe it'll lull her to sleep, with that little bit of alcohol in her blood working as a sedative. It's as cowardly as it is self indulgent, and he doesn't hate himself any less for it.

"Mmm," Yona hums. She allows him to lead her, even if it's more rocking her at this point, and pays no attention to the crowd that's begun to disperse around them.

He wonders, not for the first time, what they're doing here, as if anyone in this joint would actually recognize an heiress and call her folly. Is this what she meant when she said she wanted to embrace the bad girl life? Swaying back and forth in his arms? In a place where no one would know her name? Foolish. Misguided.

And yet here he is, with her anyway. And yet here he is, leading her through it.

"This is fun," she mumbles. "Thanks."

 _Don't thank me,_ he thinks.  _There's nothing to thank me for._

"I think I'd like to do this again someday," she continues, bulldozing forth, as always. "Maybe Soo-Won would want to come along too. We could get disguises…"

Something pinches in his chest. Hak suspects it's his heart. "I can't imagine Soo-Won in eyeliner. Or anything black."

She laughs, then, tiny and honest. "Could you imagine me? The me from before?"

Hak can't separate the two in his head. Yona with short hair and even shorter skirts is still Yona with ribbons tied in her hair and stockings on her skinny legs. They're not two different entities - both are Yona, two parts to her whole, and he doesn't know how to tell her that this girl has always existed inside of her.

"Makeup only changes the way you look," he mutters.

"Yeah," she sighs, "but-"

"You're the only person I know crazy enough to chop all of your hair off. And you've  _always_  been this way. Nothing's changed."

Yona makes a little frustrated noise against his chest. It takes everything in him not to collect her into his arms and pull her toward his face, and maybe kiss her on her cheek and see how she likes it. But he doesn't because he is stronger than that, and if nothing else, Hak is of the iron-clad will variety.

"But I'm different now," she says, and her thumb rubs against the line of his spine, perhaps mindlessly, without her consent. And maybe Hak's been wrong all along, and maybe he's a cat and not a dog, because he sort of feels like purring, more than anything else. "I'm-"

"A bad bitch?"

She nods. He thinks she might be hiding a smile in his jacket. "An adult," she corrects. "And I make my own decisions now. Nobody gets to tell me what I can and can't do."

"I think that's just teenage rebellion."

"Do you think I'm being unreasonable?" she asks, all of a sudden. "Or stupid? About marrying Soo-Won, I mean. It's not like it's come out of nowhere. I've always wanted him, and I don't think that makes me impulsive or anything, just because he's suddenly seeing me as a woman…"

She's always been unreasonable about everything. Her heart's too big, too stubborn. "Teenage marriage doesn't tend to last very long."

"But I love him."

He could never forget it. "You might still love him in a few years, too."

"I  _know_  I will! So-"

"You're young," he says, though not dismissively. She's young and has her whole life ahead of her, and marriage is a big, weighted decision. "If you still feel this way after your birthday, sure, maybe."

"But it's my decision!"

 _So why'd you ask_ , he thinks, but doesn't voice. Instead, he says, "It's your decision, and no matter what you decide, I'll support you. Besides. You'll owe me after all of this is over. I'm going to stick annoyingly close and demand to be the best man at your wedding."

"That's Soo-Won's decision, not mine," she says, but she's smiling for sure, and Hak can't decide if it makes him feel better or worse.

He settles for better. It's for the best, this happily ever after that she's planned out in her head, and part of loving someone is wanting to see them succeed. And if this will make her really, truly happy, who is he to get in the way? It's not unreasonable to want to be happy, or to want to be with the person she loves - what's unreasonable is standing in the way of that for selfish reasons.

Reasons like his own feelings.

That thumb's still petting down his spine. Hak could melt here. He sort of wishes he would.


	6. i've got only good intentions (so give me your attention)

"Y- _Yona_ ," Kija sputters.

A weird sort of pride surges through her as Kija frets, adorably, over her hair. She supposes the concern is warranted - it's a stark difference to the image she'd worked so hard to portray only a week prior, the good little heiress, long curls meticulously maintained, decorated with ribbons and delicate hairpins alike - but still, the  _pride_  is surprising. She's not sure exactly where it stems from. Kija isn't who she'd been aiming to scare.

Well, whatever, Yona thinks, tucking a chopped curl behind her ear. Motivation is motivation, and if Kija's big blue eyes glittering wistfully at her is enough to fill her with satisfaction then so be it. She'll take it.

"Don't worry so much!" she chirps, grinning. "I never liked my hair very much anyway, you know that. Sometimes a girl just needs a change!"

He places his hands very gently on her shoulders. "You weren't pressured into this, were you?"

From behind, Hak chokes on a laugh. For his part, he does his best to appear the bad boyfriend she's strong-armed him into being, keeping a watchful eye out for any of her father's employees, in case he needs to sling an arm around her waist and get playfully handsy. Or… as playfully handsy as Hak can get, anyway; there's only so much acting a guy like Hak can do, and it's not like he hasn't made it abundantly clear that she isn't his type (read: sexy).

But there's not as much for them to prove for  _Kija._ Hak only looms behind her, eyeliner smudged, one brow quirked - he's amused.

It makes her feel a little less bad about bullying him into helping her.

And then he opens his mouth. "You should've seen her before Yoon gave her a trim. Now that was scary."

"I take back every nice thing I've ever said about you," Yona hisses, spinning on her toes to face him. Her infuriating arm candy  _grins_  at her. "It wasn't that bad!"

"Like one of those little troll dolls you used to be afraid of."

"That doesn't even make sense! My hair was not sticking up like that, it just- there was one cowlick, okay, but it wasn't  _that_ bad!"

"Sure."

What does he know, anyway? Yona's not convinced Hak even brushes his hair most days. He just rolls out of bed with that stupid bedhead of his and leaves legions of girls sighing over him and how  _misunderstood_ and  _lonely_  he is. It's weird. And gross. And the more it keeps happening the more it pisses her off.

"ANYWAY," she says cuttingly, shoving him a good foot away from her before turning to Kija instead. " _The point is_  I chose to cut my hair, and it was on my own terms, so you don't have to worry about it! Besides, I think I kind of like it better this way. It's so much less work, and I use so much less product when I wash it…"

It's clear he's still caught on a ledge, teetering between concern and indignance at Hak's proximity. And, well, she supposes that's fair, too — she's always been close to the guy, but it's been a constant companionship lately, and for Kija, who's interning at her father's company, to watch Yona gallivant around with the big lug and show him off like some sort of muscle car, well. All of the change is probably concerning.

Rightfully so. She hopes it is. She hopes her father finally notices.

But stressing Kija out isn't any fun. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and his eyes are far too honest to be crinkled so. If he gets early wrinkles because of this, Yona will never forgive herself. And she will also never hear the end of it.

" _Really_ ," she insists, grabbing his hands and holding them in her own. "This is what I wanted. Please don't worry so much over me."

A sunburn she hadn't realized he had glows pink as he bows his head. Poor Kija; she knows exactly what it's like to be fair skinned, but he practically glows white in the sunlight, and it must be hell to have to constantly lather himself in aloe.

"I-If you say so!" he stutters, hands trembling, just a little. "But if he— if at any point you regret it, let me know and I'll—"

"I cut my hair myself," she says, smiling. "If I regret it then it's my own fault!"

Hak snorts from behind her. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Nobody asked him! Oh, what she wouldn't give to turn around and clobber him for his sharp tongue. They're supposed to be living on honeymoon avenue, for goodness sake, not grilling one another like an old married couple. Sure, there's not a lot they have to prove to Kija, of all people —  _or_ Jae-Ha, whose grinning is becoming increasingly infuriating, too — but still! There's probably a certain level of professionalism they should maintain, since this is sort of a business deal or… something. At the very least, Hak could keep his ribbing to a medium. He could at least pretend that he thinks she looks hot. Like he had the other night at the show!

Yes. That'd been excellent work on his part. He'd loomed like the big bad boyfriend he was supposed to be, and had lead her through crowds with a hand between her shoulder blades and steely eyes, cutting through potential suitors and blabbermouths alike. When he wants to, Yona knows he can play the part well. When push comes to shove, Hak's the most intimidating man in the room.

But he's so darn lazy. And easy going! Would it kill him to pretend like he's attracted to her?

So she turns to pout at him. Sticks out her tongue, too. "I'm trying to protect your face, sweetheart."

His lips press together and he makes a face, as if he'd just tasted something sour. " _Sweetheart_."

"What would you rather be called? Dear? Babe? Pookie?"

Jae-Ha nearly howls with laughter. "Oh! Yona dear,  _please_ keep calling him 'pookie'. Nothing would make me happier."

Kija's hands continue to tremble. Yona squeezes them placatingly and rolls her eyes, turning back to face him. He's always so skittish — sometimes, she thinks he might have a Thing about people touching him - but then whenever she does close the distance between them, he always ends up smiling at her, however timidly. It's not unlike having a pet chihuahua.

Only he's much, much larger than one, and his jawline is too handsome for that. Yona squeezes his hands again and he does smile this time, a little more confidently. "I know he's kind of irritating sometimes but he listens to me. And I like him."

Jae-Ha's simpering only gets worse. Hak exhales through his nose and Kija's smile twitches.

No matter; they only have to think she's serious, not  _like_  it.

"Come on,  _pookie,_ " Yona says then, dropping Kija's hands to instead grab the leather of Hak's jacket and give him a hearty tug. "I want something to eat."

.

Hak doesn't seem to like being called 'pookie' very much.

Admittedly, it's a little cutesy. Yona dithers on it while sipping on her smoothie, legs dangling over the trunk of his car as she watches him fetch the hotdog she'd ordered. If she's being honest, it doesn't suit him; Hak isn't a  _pookie,_ and he's not a  _pumpkin,_  and certainly not a  _darling,_  but the more she thinks on it the more frustrated she gets.

There's just not a good pet name for him. He's composed of too many contradictions, handsome but devilish, kind but conniving, broad but one of the least threatening men she knows. He's as athletic as he is brooding, as hardworking — and muscular, god — as he is lazy and nap-loving. It's hard to pin just one trait on him. Harder, even, to romanticize and sugarcoat one thing and lovingly refer to him as such.

With Soo-Won it's easy. Soo-Won is so many things; he's honey, he's sweetheart, he's dear. Soo-Won is  _prince charming,_  and happily ever after, and the beginning of her storybook romance.

Hak is different.

And maybe she's going about this wrong anyway. Maybe she shouldn't be trying to think of a name for him that suits him and instead should be brainstorming pet names that would instead bother other people.

Namely her father.

"Maybe I should call you Daddy," Yona says thoughtfully.

Hak very nearly trips and dumps her hot dog on the faded black paint of his trunk. "Excuse me?"

"I keep trying to think of something cutesy to call you," she says, blinking, watching as he gathers his bearings again and hands her the food. "Because I thought it'd be obnoxious and smothering and my father would get sick of it. But maybe I'm going about it wrong. Maybe I should be trying to gross him out instead. Or make him mad!"

Hak's expression is exhausted. "Do I get a say in this."

"Yes. I mean..." She hands him her smoothie and then takes a bite of her hot dog, chewing slowly. Hak hops up to sit beside her and takes a long, noisy slurp of her drink. "Hey!"

"I paid for it. And I'm holding it for you, your highness."

Yona pouts and nudges him with her elbow. "I said you didn't have to. I tried to pay for it, remember?"

He chuffs and takes another long sip before sitting it carefully beside them. Hak cracks his neck and leans back, arms stretching behind his neck. "Losers let their girlfriends pay for their dates. Even if they're fake girlfriends."

"Sometimes the fake girlfriend is rich and has her father's credit card," Yona says, setting the hot dog down onto her lap long enough to poke his thigh playfully. "And sometimes the goal is to piss her dad off anyway. I could've paid for it."

"Whatever," he says, squinting into the sun. "I don't backwash. It's fine. Anyway. Do I get to pick my own nickname or are you just going to call me whatever you want."

He never seems to phrase these things as questions. Feeling both lenient and also a little guilty, Yona offers him a bite of her hot dog. While he accepts it and chews noisily, Yona looks to the sun, too, and wonders aloud, "Maybe Daddy's the right answer, though."

"God I hope not."

"You don't like it when I call you Daddy?"

The swallowing almost looks painful. Hak's face screws together into something of a grimace and he says, very seriously, "It feels weird."

"It's supposed to be weird! It's like, the whole 'sorry, your daughter calls ME Daddy now' thing." Yona nods very sagely, then stops looking at Hak to look into the sun thoughtfully again. Then she stops, because her eyes hurt and now she's kind of seeing dark spots.

"Please stop saying that."

It's a little cruel, because he's clearly uncomfortable with it, but at the same time it is sort of funny, watching him be so visibly turned off by the idea. Which is good, if she's being honest — Yona doesn't like calling him Daddy very much either, but still, she's pretty sure she's on to something here. If parading Hak around like a black stallion and making mock kissy faces at him whenever her father's around isn't working, and if trending on Twitter for 10 hours because she'd been spotted moshing wasn't the ticket, then surely something so weirdly sexual and uncomfortable will do the trick.

"You could call me something funny too. Fair's fair," she says, then takes the last bite of her hot dog and dots at her mouth politely with a napkin.

Hak snorts and drops his arms beside him. "What. Like Baby?"

Something jumps in her chest. Yona can't place it. Maybe she's getting sunburnt now, too, because her face feels hot, and maybe she needs to up the SPF in her cc cream, because that's just not normal. She shouldn't have any reaction to that at all. Huh.

When she doesn't immediately respond he looks at her suspiciously. Yona wipes her face more aggressively with her napkin.

"Hey," he says, reaching out to grab her wrist, "your lipstick."

Oh. Shoot. Yona pinks from actual embarrassment this time and lowers her hand guiltily. "Oops."

"Idiot," Hak mutters, but it's far too affectionate for him to really mean it.

It's weird;  _baby_ had felt a little uncomfortable and had turned something in her chest, but idiot feels so fond and familiar that she smiles a little. If Hak notices, he doesn't say anything, and instead busies himself with taking the napkin from her hands and cleaning the mess she's made on her face in her flustering. All things considered, idiot should be an insult, and baby, though debatably condescending and infantilizing, is a normal term of endearment between consenting partners.

She blames it on the weather. The heat makes her slow on the uptake.

"There," he says, crumpling the napkin in his hand. "Better. Mostly."

"Do I look hot and ravaged?"

Hak raises a brow and shrugs a shoulder.

Well, what is she supposed to make of that? Yona ruffles her hair for good measure and then whips out her phone. "Because if I do, this is the perfect moment to add something to my Instagram story, and maybe someone will leak it to Twitter and we can get trending again—"

"Clout chaser."

"Social media is  _news_  these days. Stay with the times!" she demands, then grabs her smoothie and sucks down what's left of it. "Here. Sit still."

Yona scoots closer until their legs are pressed together. The warmth of his black jeans almost burns the bare skin of her thigh, but she persists, still, holding her phone up and testing the lighting and angle until it's at least a little bit flattering. Natural light is the best, but with where the sun is in the sky right now, and the angle they're sitting at — it just washes them out. And beyond that, it's difficult to get them both in the same shot with their height difference; Yona's not tall, but what little height she does have is in her legs, truly, and Hak is just a tank of a man.

"Darn," she mutters. "No good. You're too big."

He doesn't say anything, but she can see the shit-eating grin in her front-facing camera.

Ugh.  _Boys._

"Here," she says, "actually, I have a better idea—"

"Wh—  _Princess,_ " Hak grunts, as Yona clambers her way onto his leg, sitting daintily.

Better. This way, she can bring the camera in closer, and the lighting's far less harsh. True to form, Hak had done a bang-up job of cleaning up her lipstick, but it's still undeniably faded and smudged in places, and that does the job, that's for sure.

"Maybe I should kiss your face or something," she mumbles, squinting into the camera. "Or… your neck. For evidence."

Hak's expression betrays nothing. "If you think that'll work."

"You're okay with it?"

"If I wasn't used to you doing whatever you wanted I wouldn't have lasted this long already."

Yona wipes her thumb over her lip and then presses it to his neck, smudging the vampy red there, effectively branding him. His expression still betrays nothing, but his skin is warm, and a little sweaty from the heat, and smearing her lipstick right under his jaw is a little too easy. And it's hard to really shape it like her mouth with her thumb.

Finally, his mask cracks, and Hak can't hide his crooked smile. "You are the worst artist I've ever met."

"Hey! I've never—  _you_  try it then, if you're so talented—"

"Just." He sighs, clearly defeated. "... Use your mouth if it's that important. It's fine. Don't worry, I won't do anything."

That's not what she's worried about. Yona trusts Hak not to try anything with her, and knows in her heart that despite his teasing, he really does have her best interests at heart. And he's not even a little bit attracted to her, and he's made such clear to her many, many times — but still, it feels invasive, even if he gives his permission. These are things he's supposed to cherish with someone special.

… But he hadn't had a problem dancing close to her at that rock show, and he's let her kiss his face before. Perhaps Yona should do a better job taking his word for it. What's the difference? If he says it's fine then it's fine.

The phone drops to her lap. Yona plants a hand on his face to hold him steady and does not think on how sharp his jaw is, nor does she focus on the stubble beneath the palm. It's scratchy, and he must've forgone shaving this morning — a faux pas Soo-Won would never commit — but it feels sort of… nice on her cheek. And when she's this close, she can smell his deodorant, something simple and clean and warm, and even warmer than that is his skin, thin beneath her lips.

She can feel the strumming of his pulse. Yona knows she ought to make it good, to make this uncomfortable situation worth it, and so she braves more than just a simple peck. She might use her teeth if she knew how to properly leave a hickey, but she's too inexperienced and cowardly to try. Instead, she moves her mouth further north, until her lips are pressed to the crook of his neck, where throat meets jaw, and that stubble drags across her cheek in the process, a little rough, a lot interesting, a texture she's not quite used to.

His breath catches, and Yona jerks back instinctively, guiltily, as if she'd been burned.

She sort of feels burned. Her face must be on fire. Swallowing hurts.

"... Sorry," he says, but his voice is rougher than it had been before, hm. "Your lashes tickle."

Yona forces out a laugh and smiles, though she suspects it doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Sorry. Um."

Eyeing her handiwork feels weird, too. Her blood runs hot in her veins, and her hands feet sweatier than they had before; holding her phone in her hand is difficult, and so Hak has to take over, holding their camera steady.

Can't have the photo be blurry, after all. Not after all of that. Now they really need to make this good.

"Cheese," she says, in a voice that almost sounds like her own.

Yona is both herself and not, as she cradles Hak's jaw in her hands and cozies up to him for the camera. It's alarmingly easy to play it up for the 'gram, and Yona doesn't think about the mark she's left on him, the damning, almost bloody looking mouth-shaped smear along his throat.

It's for Soo-Won, she tells herself. This rush of her blood, the way she presses herself against Hak's chest and flutters her lashes purposefully — it's for happily ever after. It's for her independence. He will understand. It's not like she's doing anything wrong. All of this is just for show anyway.

Hak links his arm around her waist and holds her closer. It must be to steady her, because she's balanced so precariously on one of his legs, but it's warm in his embrace, and it's difficult for her to think about anything else but the way his pulse had jumped beneath her mouth. The way his skin had tasted salty beneath her tongue, in the brief half-second her lips had parted.

"There," he says, and he's found his mask again. He doesn't look even half as ruined as she feels. "These good?"

Yona can't even focus on them right now. Yona clicks her phone and shoves it into her pocket, feeling jittery and too hot and weirdly clammy. Stupid. Of course it's nothing to get worked up over. Hak really had just been ticklish, and she has lash extensions, so of course — of course. Nothing happened. There's nothing to get flustered over.

Besides. He'd said it was fine. She needs to trust him.

"Yeah," she says, but her voice still feels miles away. "Thanks. I'll go through them later. Um. Can we go home? It's hot out here."

He pats her back placatingly and helps her down from their perch atop his trunk. God. Once she's on her feet it's like she's been out at sea for years, and Yona struggles, stubbornly to find her land legs again. There's no reason for her to be so jelly legged over something so minuscule. So what, she hasn't kissed a lot of boys, so  _what_. It's just Hak. And he doesn't seem even a little bit bothered by it.

She'll have to call Soo-Won tonight and talk it over. It's been a while since she's heard from him. That's gotta be it.

"Can't wait for summer to be over," he says, spinning his keys around his finger. "Hate feeling so sweaty."

Yona takes three deep breaths and reminds herself who she is, and what she's doing this for. The picture will be great. It will go viral. Her father will see it and crack, and Yona can stop cozying up to her good friend and making things weird. At least Hak has the maturity to be cool about it.

At least Hak has the maturity to be honest about it. She lets out a breath and marches her way over to his passenger seat; if nothing else, at least she has confirmation that he's really, truly not attracted to her. And it should be comforting, knowing that he will never try anything with her, and that she's picked the right man to play this game of theatrical chicken with. Soo-Won could find comfort in that, surely; Hak's hands never stray to places she's told him are off limits. He lets her kiss his neck without getting weird about it. Hak glowers for the camera and lets her test pet names on him.

And it's comforting for her. It is. Really.

.

"I won't call you Daddy if you don't like it," she says, after he's started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Hak keeps his eyes on the road. "Whatever you think's best. I'm just along for the ride."

Yona stares out the passenger seat window. Rolls the crank down and lets the wind trash her curls. Ah. That's better. Maybe what she'd needed all along was some fresh air. It's kind of stuffy in here, in Hak's old car, with the broken air conditioner and fuzzy radio reception. Maybe what she'd needed was just to get out of her own head.

She really  _is_  an idiot.

"Thank you," she says into the wind.

He doesn't say anything for a long time. Yona thinks maybe he hasn't heard her, and so she says it again, a little more clearly this time, just a breath more bravely, bangs fluttering around her face. But he sighs, just barely audibly, and says, "Sure," and turns up the radio.

A bass line buzzes to life. It plucks something out of her chest. Yona hopes it's not her heart. The poor thing's too desperate for her own good.


End file.
